Hogan's Heroes: A Memory Lost In Darkness
by Basketballgirl Kaitlin
Summary: When Hogan and Newkirk are left severely injured after an explosion accident, Newkirk is mentally traumatized and slips into a state of deep psychosis. While trying to find a doctor to save Hogan's life with an essential heart operation, it's up to Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau to help Newkirk come back to them and recover from the horrors the Englishman witnessed that night.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Well, where have I been? Posting another story again! College has had me sucked up to pieces this semester! Many, many essays and projects, but that's what being an English major is all about! Hope you enjoy this read, especially to all my Newkirk lovers out there. Major Newkirk angst in this one! :)

* * *

 **Chapter 1:**

It was a little after 9:00PM. Down in the tunnels beneath barracks two, Colonel Robert Hogan was in the radio room sitting at the table. It was his night for radio duty and was hoping to get a message from either London or the underground for an assignment. There had not been any recently, and the men were starting to get restless sitting around with nothing to do. Hogan's men, Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau and Sergeants Kinchloe 'Kinch' and Carter were getting irritable and quite frankly, Hogan _himself_ was getting a bit tired of having nothing to do with his life. He had read just about every Sherlock Holmes novel in his collection again and could not stand to look at another book anymore. Never did he think he would grow one day sick of reading.

With his legs kicked up on the table and his back leaning against the wall, Hogan sat there silently flipping through a German magazine Kinch kept with a pile of other ones in the tunnels. The colonel sighed heavily as he flipped through another page reading an article on the Rise of Hitler in 1933. Lost in his world, he almost did not hear the radio when it started crackling.

" _Vulture to Papa Bear, Vulture to Papa Bear, come in, Papa Bear_ ," the voice said.

Hogan fumbled with the magazine and almost automatically grabbed the headset.

"Papa Bear to Vulture, read you loud and clear," Hogan said.

" _I just got word from Blue Wing in Hammelburg. There's apparently an abandoned munitions site over there that's being considered to be put back into operation. We were wondering if you could help an agent of ours, Rotes Hemd, blow it up before the Germans get a chance to operate it._ "

"Not a problem at all, Vulture. When do you want us to meet?" Hogan asked, grinning

" _Tomorrow night. Meet at the usual rendezvous area, and Rotes will take you from there._ "

"Will do. I'll have one of my men and I come along. We'll bring the explosives."

" _Knew I could count on you, Papa Bear._ "

"Papa Bear out." Hogan ended the call and took off the headset. He rose from his seat and stretched out his aching back. War was making an old man out of him. He made his way to the ladder and climbed up into the barracks. He found Kinch, Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau, sitting around the table playing poker. At the moment, it was Carter winning the game.

Kinch looked up quickly from his cards towards his commanding officer.

"Hear anything from London, sir?" He asked.

"No, but I did hear from the underground. There's a munitions site that the Germans want to restore. Our job is to demolish it before they get a chance." Hogan answered. He turned to look at his demolitions expert. "Carter, you think you can have about four bombs ready by tomorrow night?"

"Easy, Colonel! I'll have the best looking bombs you've ever seen!" Carter cheered.

Hogan smirked.

"I'm sure they'll be great." He then turned to Newkirk. "Newkirk, you wanna come along and help?"

"Would be honored, sir. I'll get that job done in no time." The Englishman answered confidently.

"Good. You and I will meet an underground agent named Rotes Hemd tomorrow evening at the usual rendezvous spot."

"What do you want me to do, Colonel?" LeBeau asked, eager.

Hogan frowned.

"Sorry, LeBeau. You and Kinch are gonna have to sit this one out. We already have three people on the job."

LeBeau hung his head down and sighed.

"Maybe next one, Louis," Kinch said, smiling.

"You're right, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau answered softly.

Carter looked down at his hand and beamed.

"Hey! I win!" He cheered.

Newkirk threw his hand in annoyed.

"I _knew_ I should've put out me 7." He grumbled.

"Newkirk, making the wrong move in poker?" Kinch gasped, amused. His was grinning from ear to ear. Seeing Newkirk make a wrong move in cards was like seeing Major Hochstetter be friendly to others.

"Very funny, mate," the Englishman said sarcastically.

Hogan could only chuckle.

"They'll be other games, Newkirk," the Colonel said warmly.

"There better be. I want me title as 'Poker Champ' back again." Newkirk hissed. He turned his head slightly and shook his head ashamed of himself.

"You should be worried about this assignment for the moment."

The Englishman sighed heavily.

"You're right, sir," he said, under his breath.

"When do you want me to start working on those bombs, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"Right now if possible," Hogan said.

"You got it, boy! Sir," Carter said, quickly correcting himself. He rose from his seat, banged on the fake bunk bed, and quickly made his way down to his chemistry laboratory.

Once he was gone, Hogan sat down where his demolitions expert had once been and let out a deep breath of air.

"Oh, this war's making me old," Hogan grumbled, rubbing his lower back.

"You are anything _but_ old, Colonel," LeBeau said proudly.

The Colonel smirked.

"Don't feel like it, but thank you, LeBeau."

"You got a plan on how we're gonna do it tomorrow night, sir?" Newkirk asked, turning to Hogan.

"I'm still thinking, but I'll debrief with you as soon as I have things all figured out." Hogan replied.

"I'll be here when yah need me, Gov."

"You get any information on what this guy looks like, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan shook his head.

"No, just his code name was all Vulture gave me."

"What was it again? Rod something?" Newkirk asked.

"Rotes Hemd. It's German for 'Red Shirt'."

"Weirdest code name _I've_ ever heard."

"Wonder why they gave him that name," LeBeau wondered.

"Ran out of fairy-tales and animals to dub them as?" Kinch suggested.

"Ha ha, very funny."

Newkirk rolled his eyes then looked back at Hogan.

"There a specific time we need to meet Rotes Hemd tomorrow night?" The Englishman asked.

"We're supposed to meet him tomorrow night at the regular rendezvous place at 2130 hours," Hogan said.

"Got it, sir."

Hogan smiled, nodded, then he got up from his spot and went into his room.

Newkirk sighed and went back to his cards.

Kinch and LeBeau saw a subtle hint of nervousness in his eyes.

"You alright, Pierre?" LeBeau asked, concerned.

"You seem a bit worried," Kinch said, crossing his arms.

"I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" Newkirk asked, surprised. The last thing he needed was his two best friends worrying over him.

"I know something's up, Newkirk. You got that look in your eye that says it." Kinch prodded, his hands shuffling cards unconsciously.

Newkirk sighed heavily, while tapping his fingers on the tabletop. He knew the sergeant would not give up until he cracked.

"Just going out on a sabotage mission with just the Gov'nor and I. Andrew's always the one to come along with one of us. Having it just be the two of us...I don't know." The Englishman answered.

"You're worried something wrong will happen?" Kinch asked, knowing the answer.

Newkirk sighed.

"Yeah, mate," he said softly.

"Trust me, _mon ami_. You and _mon Colonel_ will do just fine! He wouldn't have picked you if he didn't think you were fit for the job." LeBeau replied, with encouragement.

"I hope you're right, Louis," Newkirk said, to himself. "I hope you're right."

* * *

The next day came and went quickly. It was soon nighttime, and Hogan and Newkirk snuck out of camp with ease as usual. They got to their usual meeting spot and waited for Rotes Hemd to show up.

The night was cool, but not cold. They stood in an open area surrounded by several trees in the forest. There were a few boulders and a couple tree stumps scattered here and there. The sky was cloudy and the moon was almost impossible to make out. As calm as he appeared, Hogan was slightly anxious regarding the fact it would be difficult to see tonight.

Newkirk was carrying a small black bag that held the bombs and timers Carter had made and gave them to use on the munitions site. For some reason, he was a bit anxious tonight. Perhaps it was the fact that for once it had been just him and Hogan on a sabotage mission. Usually Carter came along for these assignments, but with all the patrols around the area recently, Hogan wanted as little of his men involved as possible. Newkirk had been chosen known for his quick fingers and stealth.

The Englishman quickly turned to look at Hogan then back in front of him.

"What do you think this guy looks like?" Newkirk asked.

"He'll be wearing a red shirt. That's all I know," Hogan said softly. He was scanning the area carefully trying to watch for anyone coming their way. He had to be cautious knowing that there were Gestapo patrols roaming the area currently. Extra patrols had been sent out ever since a recent murder of one of the Gestapo men that worked for Major Hochstetter. They suspected that the culprit worked for the underground or was a traitor of the Third Reich. Even Hogan himself did not know what had happened other than what Klink had told him. It had been easy to sneak it out of him with his several methods of conning the man. In fact, he was sure that not even Klink _himself_ knew much regarding the matter.

The two of them heard a sudden rustle coming from the bushes. They quickly snapped to the right and had their pistols ready at hand.

"Don't make any noises," Hogan warned softly.

Newkirk nodded.

"Right, Gov," he replied, just as quietly.

A few seconds later, a man in a red long sleeved shirt and black pants appeared from the bushes. He had black hair and brown eyes. He had a gun pointed at both Newkirk and Hogan and looked beyond them to see if there was not any German guards around. Satisfied, he lowered his gun slightly and turned to look at both prisoners.

"You Papa Bear?" He asked softly.

Hogan nodded.

"I am. This is my assistant, Night Hawk," Hogan said, in a hushed tone.

The man put his gun away and made his way closer to the American.

"I'm Rotes Hemd. Vulture told me he sent you two." Rotes answered.

"Nice to meet you," Hogan said friendly.

The two of them exchanged handshakes, then Rotes did the same thing with Newkirk.

"Pleasure to meet you, mate," Newkirk said, grinning.

"As to you as well," Rotes said.

Hogan looked down at his watch.

"Alright. The munitions site is four miles from here. If we start now, we should get there by midnight."

"Which way shall we go, sir?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan lifted his head from his arm and scanned the area quickly before pointing towards west.

"That way," he said.

Following the colonel, Newkirk and Rotes tagged along behind him, and the three of them began their trek towards their destination.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Hogan, Newkirk, and Rotes traveled for about two hours to reach their destination. While the American lead the way in confidence, both Newkirk and Rotes could not help but feel like they were lost. Was the munitions site really that far away from Stalag 13, or had they taken a wrong turn a while back and now in unfamiliar territory. Eventually, one of them felt the urge to say something about it.

"Sir, are you sure we're going the right way?" The Englishman asked.

"I feel like we've been walking around in circles for the last twenty minutes," Rotes said.

Hogan gave a small smirk.

"Don't worry, we're in the right direction. I'm the one with the compass, after all," the colonel said.

"But these trees looks familiar to me, Gov." Newkirk answered.

Hogan looked back at his English corporal as if he had just said something bizarre, then turned back to look at what was ahead of him.

"Newkirk, they're pine trees. Doesn't matter which part of Germany you're in, they're everywhere."

Newkirk thought about it for a brief moment, then eventually nodded.

"You do make a point, Colonel," he said.

"Now everyone, be quiet. I think we're getting closer," Hogan said, his voice becoming command like.

They continued going west and while doing so, Newkirk thought to himself on how it all started up to here. As he continued following Hogan with Rotes trailing behind him, the Englishman trailed back his thoughts to the moment after Hogan had assigned him to tag along on the assignment with him.

* * *

( _One Day Earlier…_ )

Newkirk followed Hogan into his room after they had finished dinner. Hogan closed the door, and Newkirk sat in his commanding officer's chair. He followed Hogan with his eyes as the American made his way to his window, turned around, and faced him. He leaned against the wall, crossed his legs, then crossed his arms and looked at Newkirk.

"So…" Newkirk began awkwardly. "What do you got in mind, Gov'nor?"

Hogan sighed then answered.

"I'm still planning all the details, but I think I got the main idea."

"What's your brilliant mind thinking now, sir?"

Newkirk got to his feet, and Hogan walked over to his desk. He leaned to his right against the table and put his left hand on his hip while explaining to Newkirk his plan.

"Alright. Tomorrow night, we leave right after evening roll call. After we meet Rotes at the rendezvous point, we'll travel together to the munitions site. Once we get there, I want you and Rotes to set up the explosives. I'll keep watch from nearby for any unwanted visitors."

Newkirk's eyes popped out of his sockets. His lip started to tremble. He did not about bombs. What if he messed up the timer? What if he never set it and the bomb was found? Why couldn't Carter go instead? If he made even just one little slip up, it could be fatal to all parties involved.

"You...you...you want _me_ to set the explosives, Gov'nor? Surely Rotes will be willing to do the job instead, sir!" He began.

Hogan raised an eyebrow at Newkirk and looked at him cautiously.

"Worried are we, Newkirk?" He prodded.

The Englishman scoffed.

" _Me_?! _Scared_ , Gov'nor?! Yah bloody joking. I ain't scared of anything, sir. Not old Peter Newkirk here." He answered, cocky.

"Good. So you shouldn't have a problem with setting those bombs tomorrow," Hogan said calmly.

Not wanting to go into an argument, Newkirk gave a surrendering sigh and nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said. By how Hogan was acting, he could tell his commanding officer was not in a mood for joking around. He was not in the most pleasant of moods for some reason. He usually was a tad more ornery when it came to upcoming missions.

"Once we set the bombs, we'll go back to the rendezvous, split with Rotes there, then we'll head back to Stalag 13."

"Got it, Gov."

"You have any questions, Newkirk?"

"No, sir."

The American nodded.

"Good, you're dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

Newkirk rose to his feet and started towards the door, when he turned around and looked at Hogan.

"Colonel?"

Hogan turned from looking at papers on his desk.

"Yes, Newkirk," he said.

The Englishman opened his mouth then closed it.

"Nevermind."

Hogan nodded and went back to flipping through his paperwork.

Newkirk sighed and walked out of the colonel's room closing the door behind him. He trudged his way to the table and sat down besides Kinch and Carter in Hogan's spot. LeBeau was standing at the stove making dinner for the five of them.

"What did the Colonel say, buddy?" Carter asked, interested.

"He wants _me_ to set the bombs tomorrow night." Newkirk grumbled.

"Oh, I can show you that _easy_ , buddy!"

"Easy for _you_ , Andrew. _I_ , on the other hand, have no _idea_ how to set a bomb! I could bloody kill us all!"

"Oh, Newkirk, quit your worrying. We've never had a mishap go wrong before," Kinch said, smiling.

"But I know _nothing_ regarding how to set a bomb," Newkirk remarked.

"Oh, it's really easy, Newkirk. See, you start out with…" Carter was cut off.

"Thank you, Andrew," Newkirk said irritated. He shook his head at the whole situation. Why _him_ , he wondered. Out of all people that were qualified to go on this assignment, why in God's name did Hogan chose _him_?

* * *

( _Present Day_ )

So lost in his thoughts, Newkirk failed to notice that Hogan had stopped walking. The Englishman almost ran over his commanding officer. He looked ahead of him and stopped himself abruptly just barely an inch behind Hogan. When the American felt someone strangely close to him, he turned around to find Newkirk just inches from him.

Newkirk gave a childish smile.

Hogan raised an eyebrow and looked at his safe-cracker suspiciously.

"A little close are we, Newkirk?" The colonel asked, leaning back.

Newkirk let out a slight laugh.

"Zoned out there for a minute, Gov'nor," he said softly.

Still slightly mystified, Hogan nodded and looked back to Rotes, who was quickly looking over the map he had with him. Satisfied, Rotes nodded to the colonel, giving the signal that he was good. Hogan nodded back and quickly glanced over his shoulder to Newkirk.

"Let's go," he ordered.

"Right, Gov," Newkirk said softly.

The American resumed walking again and was quickly followed by Rotes and Newkirk.

The three of them lost track of how long they had been walking, but finally reached their destination after what felt like months getting there. Hogan stopped both of them from proceeding any further with his arm. He gave one more look at the munitions site before turning to the men with him. It seemed abandoned and vacant, which would make their task at hands that much easier.

"Rotes, you keep look out nearby the fence over by those bushes. Newkirk, you get up to the fence and start setting the bombs for one hour. I'll hide behind that tree near the fence and keep look out from there," Hogan said softly.

"Are you sure yah wouldn't rather have Rotes set up the bombs instead, Gov'nor? I mean, he seems like he knows what he'd be doing with…" Newkirk was cut off by one of Hogan's 'out of the question' looks. The Englishman sighed and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Hogan looked at his watch and sighed silently.

"Alright. It took us a little over two hours to get here. Newkirk, if you can get those bombs assembled in 20 minutes or less, we should get back to Stalag 13 around 0130 hours."

"I'll go as fast as I can, sir." Newkirk replied.

"Good." Hogan looked at his watch and waited a few seconds before speaking again. "Go."

Rotes ran to his position, and Newkirk took his place at the barbed wire fence. The American got behind the thick oak tree near the fence and kept his eyes steady on the corporal and for any unwanted visitors.

Newkirk knelt down on the ground and started wiring the bombs. It seemed pretty easy to him, until he got to the last bomb. The one with the timer on it. His hands shook while holding it. Everything regarding this assignment depended on the tiny bomb that was now in his possession. Closing his eyes, Newkirk took in slow deep breaths to try and calm himself down. Once he had managed to suppress his anxiety to some degree, he opened his eyes and continued his task at hand.

Carefully, he moved the dial to 150 minutes and gently placed it down on the ground. He wired it to the rest of the bombs and after making sure everything was in place, he stood up from his spot and made his way back to Hogan and Rotes.

As he made his way back to Rotes and Hogan, unknown to all of them, the dial was not at 150 minutes. Instead, it was on 15 minutes!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm posting this chapter for my friend, Winterfrost15, who isn't feeling well today. This chapter's dedicated to you, my friend! Hope you and all my others enjoy this suspenseful and action packed chapter. Reviews always encouraged! :D

* * *

 **Chapter 3:**

"Get the bombs set, Newkirk?" Hogan asked, turning back to the Englishman.

"All ready to go, sir," Newkirk said, smiling.

"Good."

"How did you do that so fast?" Rotes asked, amazed.

"I've got a good friend who's an expert on this stuff. He's taught me all I know." Newkirk answered.

"Gotta meet him someday. _I_ wanna know how to do that so quickly."

Hogan gave a faint smile.

"Well, let's get going, shall we?" The American asked.

The three of them were about to leave, when they heard a faint beeping coming from where Newkirk set the bombs. They looked at each other, towards the bombs and the fence, then back at one another.

"Newkirk, I thought you set the bombs to 150 minutes." Hogan finally answered.

"I thought I _did_ , sir," Newkirk said, turning to his commanding officer. Had he set it for an earlier time without him knowing it?

Rotes, curious, made his way towards the fence and knelt down to check the bombs. Hogan and Newkirk stood near the trees, which were not more than ten feet away from the fence. Both Hogan and Newkirk turned to look at one another worried than back at Rotes.

The underground member looked at the bomb, and his eyes gaped at the site. He was about to leap from the fence and tell the others to run, but he never got a chance when a giant boom and explosion made its way into the silence.

* * *

LeBeau and Carter sat on the bottom bunk under Newkirk's, as they watched Kinch pace back and forth. Newkirk and Hogan had been gone for two more hours than were expected for them to return. The three of them were beginning to worry, but neither one of them wanted to admit it. Both LeBeau and Carter glanced at each other, and Kinch paced back and forth, all of them assuming the worst had happened.

Kinch kept looking at his watch and cringed every time he looked. 3:30AM. He went back to pacing, which was picking up quicker the more nervous he got.

"Maybe they got held up by a Gestapo patrol, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau suggested, trying to relax Kinch's nerves.

"I'm sure they're both fine, Kinch," Carter said softly. He sure hoped they were alright, at least. If something bad happened to either Newkirk or Hogan, or worse, _both_ , he did not know what he would do. As much as he tried to remain optimistic, he could not fight his body from shaking a little. It was the one time he wished the cold weather was the cause of it.

The fake bunk suddenly rose, and Newkirk somehow managed to crawl up into the barracks carrying an unconscious body in his arm. It was Hogan. Newkirk's face was cut on the left side of his head, his black pants had a tear in the right leg exposing a nasty gash opened and dripping blood, his left hand was burned and cut, and besides dirt and sweat on his face, any other injuries were concealed.

Hogan had not been so lucky. He was bleeding in the back of the head from a deep and big cut, his skin was pale and clammy, his breathing was irregular and rapid, and his shirt was stained in blood and had the appearance of a wound that went all the way from the chest down.

Seeing the sight before them, the two sergeants and French corporal shot to their feet and hurried over to Newkirk and the colonel's side.

"Oh my God!" Carter cried.

"Pierre!" LeBeau wailed.

Kinch helped a trembling and struggling Newkirk gently lay down Hogan on Carter's bunk, as LeBeau and Carter stood up to give them some space. Once Hogan had been placed down on the bed, Newkirk collapsed to the ground.

"What happened, Newkirk?!" Carter asked, worried.

"Get...doctor...Colonel's...hurt...hospital…" Newkirk's eyes rolled back and fell unconscious into Carter's lap.

"Newkirk? Newkirk? Newkirk!" Carter paled and repeated.

"LeBeau, get Kommandant and hurry! We've gotta get them to a hospital," Kinch ordered.

"What do we tell him, Kinch?" LeBeau cried, in a panic.

"I'll think of something, just go, Louis!" Kinch barked, terror in his voice.

Without another word, LeBeau hurried out of the barracks and ran as fast as he could to Klink's quarters.

Once LeBeau was gone, Kinch turned back to Hogan and placed his hands gently on Hogan's shoulders. The sergeant managed to get a closer look at his commander's injuries before shivering himself: a nasty open wound in his belly, and his chest had an opened wound in between his ribs.

"Come on, Colonel. Come on, sir. Talk to me, Colonel. Come on, Colonel, hold on!" Kinch pleaded.

Hogan remained unresponsive.

Starting to not hold back his anxiety, Kinch turned to look at Carter, who was sitting with Newkirk and trying to bring him back into consciousness.

"How is he, Carter?" Kinch asked.

"He's not answering me, Kinch." Carter trembled.

"Come on, Louis! Where are you with Klink? The Colonel and Newkirk could _die_ before they get help!"

"Come on, guys...hold on just a little longer." Carter pleaded softly. He turned back to his best friend and desperately tried to wake up Newkirk. "Come on, Newkirk, come on. Open your eyes, buddy, _please_ , Newkirk!"

* * *

Hogan and Newkirk were transferred to a hospital as quickly as Klink could arrange for it. Kinch had told Klink that both Hogan and Newkirk tripped over shattered glass and got their cuts from falling. Hogan had been unlucky and whacked his head onto the side of the table in the barracks causing the cut in the back of his head.

Kinch, Carter, LeBeau, and Klink were waiting outside in the waiting area for any news on Hogan and/or Newkirk. Both had been in surgery for more than four hours now. When brought in, Dr. Richard Klaussner, a member of the underground, had rushed Hogan into emergency surgery after the American had started crashing. Newkirk had been hurried into surgery after being taken to the emergency room for examination.

Klink and Kinch had resorted to pacing back and forth across the room. Both men were worried out of their minds on how Newkirk and Hogan were doing. They were even more worried with why it was taking so long to hear back from anybody. Carter and LeBeau were sitting in chairs shaking their legs, tapping their fingers, or trying to distract themselves from what was going on. Knowing that two of their best friends were in critical condition and both in emergency surgery were driving them mad. If anything happened to either one of them, both LeBeau and Carter were sure they would lose it altogether.

"What's taking so long?!" Klink exclaimed. The old German kommandant was growing impatient and concerned that none of them had heard from Dr. Klaussner or any doctor in the last four hours.

"I'm sure they are just fine, Kommandant," LeBeau said. The little Frenchman was forcing himself to think positively. If he did not, he knew he would break down right there and then.

"I can't lose 'em...I can't lose 'em, Kinch, I _can't_!" Carter whimpered, tears falling down his face. His hands were shaking in his lap, and he could not stop tapping the floor repetitively.

Kinch looked at Carter with sympathy and made his way over to the young sergeant. He wrapped an arm around Carter like Hogan did and sat down besides him.

"Don't worry, Carter. Newkirk and Colonel Hogan are gonna be alright. They're strong, they can fight this." Kinch softly spoke.

The young sergeant sniffled and wiped his eyes, though more tears fell.

"They have to be alright. They _have_ to be. Not one prisoner I've ever had has died, not _one_!" Klink spoke, strong. It quickly faded, and he went back to pacing in a panic. "Please let them be alright, God." He muttered softly to himself. He did not want Hogan or Newkirk to die. They were Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau's friends, and Hogan was basically Klink's only friend. He could not lose the one friend he had, and he would feel awful if the three men sitting before him lost their friends either. The five of them were a close bunch. They did everything and went everywhere with one another. They would be lost without either one of them.

As Klink made another round of pacing, Dr. Klaussner walked out of the operating room worn and tired. He was wearing a scrubs uniform and had a surgical mask hanging around his neck. He made his way to the four men in the waiting room and sighed heavily. Once they noticed him, they all rushed to the old doctor's side, their faces filled with terror.

"How are they, Dr. Klaussner?" Klink begged to know.

The old man sighed heavily again.

"Newkirk is fine. A few torn muscles in his leg, his hand is wrapped and being treated for the damages done to it, needed stitches for the cut in his forehead, and more stitches for a cut in the back of his left shoulder blade. I want him here for the night to observe him. He's on heavy pain medicine as of now, which is making him very sleepy." Klaussner replied.

"Is Colonel Hogan alright, Doctor?" Kinch asked.

Klaussner did not answer for a long while. He let out another breath and shook his head.

"Colonel Hogan's condition is more critical. He took a pretty hard blow to the back of his head and lost a tremendous amount of blood due to the wound in his chest and abdomen. His heart was penetrated and slightly cut. He almost crashed twice on the operating table."

"He'll be alright though...right?" Carter asked, hopeful.

Klaussner looked at them sympathetically for a moment before continuing.

"Colonel Hogan needs a life saving operation. I'm not trained into performing it, and there is not enough of his blood type in the hospital needed for the surgery. Without it, I'm afraid Colonel Hogan will eventually go into cardiac arrest and die from sudden heart failure."

"NO!" Carter wailed.

" _Dire qu'il est pas_!" LeBeau pleaded.

"There must be _something_ you can do for him, Dr. Klaussner," Klink suggested.

Klaussner shook his head 'no'.

"There is nothing more I can do for Colonel Hogan. He needs a highly trained cardiologist to perform the operation and more supply of his blood type, or I'm afraid he will not make it."

"What's his blood type?" Klink asked.

"A rare one. A negative." Klaussner answered.

Carter swallowed a knot in his throat.

"I'm A negative," he softly said.

Kinch, Klink, and LeBeau all turned to Carter and gaped at him.

"You have A negative blood?" Klaussner gasped.

Carter nodded unsure of himself.

"André, you can save _mon Colonel_!" LeBeau cried.

"Colonel Hogan's life depends on it, Carter." Kinch added.

The young sergeant swallowed hard. He wanted to save Hogan. He wanted his best friend and commanding officer to survive, but he had never given blood in his entire life. What if _he_ became ill from it? He shook in his boots and looked up into Klaussner's eyes.

"I've...never given blood before." Carter quivered.

Klaussner gave a gentle smile.

"You'll be fine, Mr...uh…" Klaussner paused. He had to act like he did not know the man's name in order to protect his true identity from Klink.

"Sergeant Carter, sir," Carter said, shy.

"All I need is one pint. You'll be fine as long as you eat and have something to drink before getting back up on your feet." Klaussner continued.

"What about the surgery?" Klink questioned.

"I am looking into finding a trained cardiologist, but I do not promise anything. Finding a good cardiologist in these times will be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. _Especially_ for an American prisoner of war."

Klink nodded sadly.

"Yes, Dr. Klaussner," the old German softly said.

Carter looked back pleadingly at Kinch.

"Ki..Kinch?" Carter shivered.

The radioman did not need anymore. He gave a gentle smile.

"Sure, Carter. I'll come with you," he said. He wrapped an arm around Carter to comfort his fear and both of them followed Klaussner leaving LeBeau and Klink behind.

* * *

Klaussner was washing his hands in the sink, as Kinch stood next to Carter, who was sitting in a chair and rolling down his right sleeve. The blood giving had gone quicker than Carter thought it would. He was a little pale for Klaussner and Kinch's liking, so the old doctor had gave the young sergeant a bottle of water and a chocolate chip cookie to snack on.

"How are you feeling, kid?" Kinch asked, smiling.

"A little tired, but fine other than that." Carter answered sincerely.

Kinch nodded and turned to look back at Klaussner, who wiped his hands and made his way over to Hogan's men.

"How's the burns on Newkirk's hand, Richard?" Kinch asked.

"It's a pretty bad second degree burn, but it'll heal over fairly quickly with medicine." Richard answered.

"And how bad really _is_ the Colonel?"

The old man heaved a heavy sigh.

"What I said was true. Robert doesn't stand a chance at making it without that operation. He has several major blood veins leading towards the heart damaged. There's also a severe cut on Robert's heart from where a decent sized piece of shrapnel nicked it. His stomach's another thing I wanna watch carefully. Several abdominal muscles were ripped and torn from shrapnel. One cut opened the top part of his stomach, and I needed to repair it immediately. To be honest, I'm surprised he even made it off the operating table."

Carter gave a hopeful smile.

"That's Colonel Hogan. Strong and fights until the end."

Klaussner returned a sad smile.

"I wish that would be enough this time...not even Robert's stubbornness will help him now. Without that operation…" Klaussner did not finish. It seemed to pain the old man knowing he could do nothing more for Hogan. The two men were close friends and had spent many hard times with one another to pull the other one back up again for another fight.

"Are you sure you can't perform the operation yourself, Richard?" Kinch asked softly.

Klaussner shook his head sadly.

"I wish I could. In normal circumstances, I would...these are not normal circumstances. The injuries to Robert's heart are near fatal. A professional cardiologist must perform the operation if he's to have a chance at survival."

Carter hung his head and let a few tears roll down his face.

Kinch rubbed the young sergeant's back gently.

"Don't cry, Carter. When we get back to camp, I'm getting directly on the radio and getting in touch with London and the underground. Maybe one of them can find a cardiologist and send them here to treat the Colonel," he said softly.

"I've already got colleagues in Berlin searching for some of the top cardiologists in the country. They won't stop looking until every resource has been investigated." Klaussner added.

"Can we see him, Richard?" Carter asked, with puppy dog eyes.

The old doctor nodded gently.

"I think Robert would like that."

Carter stood up from the chair and almost collapsed to the ground had it not been for Kinch catching him.

"Easy there, kid," Kinch said, helping Carter into a standing position.

"Whoa," Carter said, taken by surprise. "They're not kidding when they say giving blood wipes you out."

"Are you alright?"

"A little light headed, but I'm fine."

Kinch nodded then turned to Klaussner.

"Can we see Newkirk, too?" He asked.

The old man nodded.

"Come on, Carter. Let's go get Louis." Kinch spoke to the young sergeant.

Carter nodded. He took one step forward and his legs were already shaking. He was starting to collapse, when Kinch caught him again.

"How about I _help_ you walk," Kinch suggested.

"Good idea," Carter said, blushing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau entered into Newkirk's room and found their friend lying in a bed on the left side of the room in front of a window. A bathroom and changing area was on the right side of the room, a chair and stool on Newkirk's right, and a nightstand and table on his left.

Newkirk was covered up with sheets and a thick green blanket. His arms laid at his sides, and an IV was in his right hand along with a hospital bracelet. There was a tiny bandage in the left corner of his forehead covering his stitches, and his left hand was completely covered in gauze and bandages. The British corporal was sound asleep and had been washed of the dirt and sweat that he had come in with. He wore a white hospital gown with dark navy blue diamonds on it.

"Do you think he can hear us?" LeBeau whispered.

"I hope so," Carter said softly. The young sergeant tried walking to the chair sitting beside Newkirk's bed, but after taking one step, poor Carter almost fell and whacked his head on the window sill. Kinch was quick and gently helped Carter down into the chair.

"Whoa there, kid. We don't need another person in the hospital." Kinch spoke quietly.

"Sorry...you'd think this lightheadedness would've worn off by now." Carter replied.

"Just take it easy, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau said, concerned. He felt bad for the young sergeant. Carter's color was off, and the little Frenchman had never seen him so exhausted before.

Kinch sat down in the stool sitting beside the young sergeant, and LeBeau sat down on the right by Newkirk's legs.

"Hi, Pierre. Don't be worried; Kinch, André, and I are here, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau said kindly.

"I hope you're feeling better really soon, buddy...I miss you already." Carter added.

"I'm here, too, Newkirk," Kinch said. "We're alright."

Newkirk gave a slight moan.

"Don't worry, buddy. You're alright. Don't worry." Carter spoke friendly.

Newkirk moaned again. Louder. With more pain in his tone.

"Just relax, Newkirk. No need to stir right now." Kinch added in softly.

The Englishman started breathing heavily and rapid.

"Newkirk?" Carter asked, worried.

Suddenly, the English corporal shot up in sitting position, still in a state of unconsciousness, and started screaming bloody murder.

"Gov'nor! Gov'nor!"

"LeBeau, get Richard! Hurry!" Kinch exclaimed.

" _Oui_ , Kinch!"

The little Frenchman shot to his feet and hurried out of the room to find their friend. Leaving Kinch and Carter behind, the two sergeants tried calming Newkirk down and to relax once again.

"Easy there, Newkirk," Kinch said softly.

"It's just a nightmare, buddy. You're alright." Carter added.

"Colonel! Colonel! Run, Gov'nor, run!" Newkirk screeched.

"Why won't he calm down, Kinch?" Carter panicked.

"If I knew that answer, Andrew, he wouldn't be screaming still." The radioman answered, uneasy.

LeBeau and Klaussner hurried into the room, and the old doctor made his way quickly to Newkirk's side.

"What happened?" Klaussner asked, forceful.

"He just started screaming suddenly. We were talking to him, and he started moaning shortly beforehand." The staff sergeant answered.

Klaussner grabbed a syringe out of his lab coat pocket and looked to LeBeau and Kinch.

"Hold him down," the old man ordered.

Nodding, Kinch took hold of Newkirk's arms, and LeBeau held his legs down.

Klaussner injected the syringe into the Englishman's arm and soon enough, he settled down and fell silent.

"What's wrong with him?" Carter quivered.

Klaussner looked at them with weary, tired eyes.

"I believe Newkirk may be suffering from mental trauma of some kind." The old doctor answered.

"From what?" LeBeau asked.

Klaussner shook his head.

"I don't know," he said softly.

"Could it be something that happened earlier tonight, Kinch?" The little Frenchman asked, turning to his friend.

"Possibly, but we won't know for sure unless we can get Newkirk or the Colonel to tell us what happened earlier tonight." Kinch answered.

"Richard," Carter hesitated. "Is Colonel Hogan awake to talk to us?"

The old doctor did not answer for a long time.

"Possibly," he said softly.

"What do you mean 'possibly'?" LeBeau asked, suspicious.

"He's heavily medicated for his heart. He may or may not be completely conscious. He may look like he's conscious, but there's a chance his eyes could just be open and looking around. He may not completely comprehend what your asking or telling him. I know for a fact, though, he will not respond by speech...not by how much medicine he's been given."

"Can we see him?" The young sergeant asked, holding back tears.

Klaussner nodded.

"But be gentle and quiet. Any excitement could cause him to go into cardiac arrest." The old man answered.

"Will do," Kinch said. He turned to LeBeau and Carter. "Come on, guys. Let's go."

Carter, with Kinch's assistance, and LeBeau followed the radioman out of Newkirk's room and closed the door behind them.

* * *

The three Heroes entered into Hogan's room silently. They found their commander sound asleep in his bed. A nightstand and lamp sat to the right of him with a chair sitting beside it. A changing area and bathroom were behind that.

The American officer lay peaceful in bed with his hands on his swollen middle from surgery and wounds covered up with a blue blanket and sheets. He wore a white hospital nightgown with the same design on it as Newkirk's gown. His black hair made his face look pale as the pillowcase and sheets on his bed being so ill. His eyes had dark circles around them, and his lips almost colorless. In his right hand, there was an IV, his hospital bracelet on his left along with his watch, a tube connected to his belly leading somewhere under the bed, another IV in his right arm giving him blood transfusions, an oxygen assistance in his nose, and several wires attached to his chest leading to some device Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter had never seen before. His face and body had been cleaned of the sweat and dirt that once was on him.

Carter sat down in the chair next to Hogan's bed, LeBeau sat by Hogan's legs on the bed, and Kinch stood behind Carter placing his hands on the young sergeant's shoulders for comfort.

"Hi, Colonel...it's just me, Carter here," The young sergeant softly said.

Hogan was silent. The only motion he did was breathe in and out.

"I am here, too, Colonel," LeBeau softly said. He wondered if Hogan could hear him or not.

"I'm here as well, Colonel." Kinch added. "Don't worry, sir. I'll take care of 'em while your sick."

"Colonel, I don't know _how_ , but I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure you get that operation you need. I'll make a _thousand_ bombs if I have to to get the job done." Carter promised.

Hogan's eyes fluttered open and just barely turned his head to look at all three of his men.

Kinch smiled.

"How are you feeling, sir?"

Hogan did not answer. He fought to keep his eyes open. They fluttered a few times. His body kept telling him to rest, but his mind kept telling him to stay awake for his men. He needed to know what happened to him. And why was it so hard for him to make out what they were saying to him, he wondered. He could see them, and he could hear them talking, but their words made no sense to him. It was almost like trying to understand a foreign language.

"Can you hear us, buddy?" Carter asked, worried.

Their commanding officer simply looked at them through barely opened eyes. How he wished he could understand what they were saying. Hogan tried opening his mouth to speak, but all came was a faint, muffled growl.

"It's alright, Colonel. You don't need to talk. You just rest and get better as fast as you can." LeBeau softly spoke. He put a gentle hand on Hogan's left shoulder for comfort.

Hogan's eyes began fluttering again and was losing his fight to stay awake. Soon enough, his eyes closed, and his head fell limp.

"Colonel?" Carter asked.

No answer.

"Colonel?" He asked, more worried than before.

Nothing.

"Colonel!"

"It's alright, Carter. He's just sleeping," Kinch softly said.

The young sergeant swallowed a knot and nodded. He could not lose Hogan. He was the best commanding officer he could ever ask for. He was his best friend in the whole world. Losing Hogan would be like part of him dying with him.

"Don't quit fighting, Colonel. _N'abandonnez pas encore_ ," LeBeau said quietly. (1)

"Come back to us, Colonel...please, Colonel...come back to us again." Carter croaked.

Kinch sighed.

"Come on, guys. Let's go home. Newkirk and Colonel Hogan need us now more than ever." The radioman softly spoke.

The three of them got to their feet and sulked out of Hogan's room.

* * *

(1) _N'abandonnez pas encore -_ Do not give up yet


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Morning came too soon for everyone in barracks two. As soon as roll call ended, Kinch was down in the tunnels and on the radio faster than Klink could order Schultz into entering his office.

While Kinch was downstairs, LeBeau was making breakfast for the three of them, and Carter was sitting at the table staring down at a table full of cards. He was bored playing solitaire by himself. He wished Newkirk was there to play gin with. He missed his best friend's 'special' deck of cards and the Englishman constantly pulling tricks over him. He sure hoped Newkirk was alright and getting better soon. He wanted the same thing for Hogan, too, and hoped that Kinch would find a stroke of luck and be able to track down a top cardiologist to perform Hogan's operation and save him.

"Louis," Carter said. "What are you making?" He needed to speak to someone. The quiet was killing the poor young man. To Hogan, though, Carter was nothing more than a kid still. He was too young to be involved in war, the American colonel thought.

"Just scrambled eggs and toast. Not in the mood to make anything extravagant." The little Frenchman answered sadly. He, too, was worried about Hogan and Newkirk. Usually, cooking made him feel better. In this situation, however, all he could do was stir his food half-heartedly.

"Do you think Newkirk and the Colonel are gonna be alright, Louis?"

"I hope so, _mon ami_. Things will certainly be different around here if one of them...or both…" LeBeau did not finish. He could not go there. He refused to believe that Hogan and/or Newkirk would not pull through. Though, after what happened late last night, he and the rest of them wondered what happened on that mission that would make Newkirk panic like that. It took a lot to get Newkirk to crack like he did. It had to be bad if it made the English corporal cry out last night like that.

"They're gonna be alright, Louis...they _gotta_ be."

Both of them fell silent, until Kinch appeared from beneath the barracks and closed the fake entrance. He made his way to Carter and sat down besides him.

"Anything, Kinch?" LeBeau asked, hopeful.

"London and the underground are both currently searching high and low for a trained cardiologist to perform the Colonel's operation. Otto and General Berkman will report what they find as soon as they know anything more." The radioman answered tired.

"How did General Berkman take the news?" Carter asked, concerned.

General Alfred Berkman was Hogan's commanding officer and long time friend. The general had been responsible for Hogan becoming a colonel in the first place. They had a father-son relationship, and the old man did whatever he could for Hogan and his men in order for their operation to flourish.

Kinch sighed heavily.

"As well as he'll ever take it...poor guy was devastated at the news. I'm pretty sure at one point he was close to breaking down."

"Poor guy," Carter said.

" _Mon Colonel_ and _mon General_ are good friends with each other." LeBeau added.

"Kinch, what are we gonna do? We're _nothing_ without Newkirk and Colonel Hogan."

"Both Newkirk and Colonel Hogan are gonna be just fine. We'll do in the meanwhile. We gotta keep going for them. They need us to. Their lives _depend_ on it," Kinch said firmly.

LeBeau and Carter turned to one another and nodded in agreement. They had to keep going. For Newkirk and for Hogan.

The door to the barracks opened, and Baker made his way into the main area. There was a grim look on his face, too.

"What is it, Baker?" Kinch asked.

"The Gestapo's here. Major Hochstetter and another major...he didn't look to friendly, either," Baker said hesitantly.

"Who _is_ friendly in the Gestapo...filthy bosche." LeBeau hissed.

"Coffee, men?" Kinch asked, gesturing to Hogan's room.

LeBeau and Carter nodded and followed their current Senior POW Officer into Hogan's room. LeBeau set up the fake coffee pot and turned it on just as Major Wolfgang Hochstetter and the other major entered into Klink's office.

" _Major Hochstetter_!" Klink gasped.

" _Good to see you, too, Klink_." Hochstetter growled.

* * *

Klink stood close to his desk and looked at the four men before him. Two sergeants stood guard at the door looking blankly out at nothing. The man standing next to Hochstetter, however, was the one that frightened Klink the most. An older man, about 6'4" and very slim, with faint facial hair, graying light brown hair, and piercing cold dark blue eyes. He gawked at Klink like a hawk and watched his every move. He frightened the old kommandant more so than Hochstetter ever did. The short major, although easily triggered by words or actions, could sometimes be easy to predict in what he would do behavior wise. _This_ new man, however, just saying 'hi' made Klink fear he would set off an explosion.

The kommandant swallowed a lump in his throat and finally found his voice.

"Major, how can I assist you and your men on this fine day?" He asked, barely above a whisper.

"Klink, are you aware that last night, an important munitions site that was being considered for re-operation was sabotaged last night?" Hochstetter snarled.

"Major Hochstetter, I had no _idea_! How did it happen?" Klink gasped.

"Several sets of bombs were found wired near the fence closest to the forest. Not too far beyond that did we find a body suspected to have connections with the underground."

"The underground, Major?"

"Yes. I suspect your precious Colonel Hogan had something to do with it as well."

"I can assure you, Major, that Colonel Hogan had nothing to do with this sabotage whatsoever."

"Defending an American, are we, Kommandant?" The older major hissed.

"Absolutely not, _Herr Major_...eh...who are you?" Klink shuddered.

"This is Major Achim Schneider. He will be assisting me in this investigation," Hochstetter said. He smiled inwardly seeing how much Schneider intimidated Klink.

"I have heard many things of your Senior POW Officer, Kommandant. I would be interested in meeting him." Schneider prodded.

Klink gulped. What would he tell the two Gestapo officers? He had to tell them the truth, but he did not want to put Hogan and Newkirk into harm either. He decided he would tell them the truth, but be as vague with his answers as possible without causing suspicion.

Hogan had saved Klink's rear end numerous amounts of times from Hochstetter, Burkhalter, and high ranking officials from both the Luftwaffe and the Gestapo. The American colonel had talked his commanding officer and many others from sending Klink to the Russian Front, a firing squad, prison, or worse. On top of that, Hogan was the closest thing he had to a friend. He would not put his friend in harm and the men under his friend's command. He would protect them as much as he could without exposing himself as well.

"Major...Colonel Hogan is in the hospital...he is currently suffering from a serious and deadly heart defect. He must have surgery, or Dr. Klaussner says he will not survive." Klink answered, as strong as he could. His voice shook under the eyes of Schneider. The older Gestapo officer seemed to see through him and knew what made him tick and shake. He never wanted someone to leave his office so much in his life.

"Coincidence, Klink?" Hochstetter sneered. He knew in his blood that Hogan was responsible. Hopefully with Schneider now as his co. partner, he would be able to finally expose Hogan once and for all.

"Major, I do not see how a man suffering from near fatal heart conditions would be able to sneak out of camp successfully, sabotage an abandoned munitions site, and sneak back into camp without anyone seeing him. After all, _no one_ has ever escaped from Stalag 13!" Klink spoke the last part proud. He could never be brought down when remembering his perfect no escape record.

"I know very well of your no escape record, Klink. It is known that Stalag 13 is the toughest POW camp in all of Germany." Schneider spoke soothingly.

"That's right, Major!" Klink remarked, smiling like a fool.

Schneider's expression changed from a friendly one to a demonic one like the light switch on the wall.

"I don't buy it!" Schneider snarled.

"Yes, _Herr Major_." Klink tremored. The poor old German shook in his boots under Schneider's glare. It made him shatter like glass.

"We will return in a few days, Klink. Perhaps Colonel Hogan will be 'feeling better' as you put it!" Hochstetter sneered, leaning in close towards the old kommandant. As he got closer, Klink leaned back further to try and make him as distant from the Gestapo officer as much as possible.

He nodded rapidly.

"Yes, Major Hochstetter. I think that's an excellent idea, sir." The German kommandant trembled.

Hochstetter got back into standing position and turned to Schneider.

"Achim, shall we take our leave," Hochstetter suggested friendly.

"Sounds like a splendid idea, Major," Schneider said smiling coolly.

Klink shook watching the four Gestapo men leave his office and close his door. Once they were gone, Klink collapsed into his chair and slid down as far as he could without falling out and whacking his head on his desk.

"Hogan, help me." Klink shivered.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to my good friend, Winterfrost16. Hope you're feeling better soon and keep a smile on your face! :) As for the rest of y'all, thank you for your continued support and reviews! It means the world to me! Keep 'em coming! :D

* * *

 **Chapter 6:**

Kinch put away the fake coffee pot and turned his attention back to LeBeau and Carter, both whom shared the same looks with their friend.

"Boy," Carter said. "This Major Schneider sounds like bad news."

" _Oui_. We must get rid of him, Kinch. Who knows _what_ he might try to do to hurt _mon Colonel_." LeBeau added.

"No one's hurting the Colonel or Newkirk. We won't let it happen...but we need a plan to get rid of Schneider," Kinch said, starting to pace like his commander always did.

"What are we gonna do?" Carter asked, worried.

"I would like to know the same thing." LeBeau commented, crossing his arms.

"Newkirk comes home from the hospital tomorrow morning...maybe he can help us think of something." The staff sergeant began forming an idea in his head.

"Kinch, what about his mental trauma?" Carter questioned.

"We don't know _what_ might set him off, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau said.

"We'll have to be cautious around him. As soon as Newkirk gets back here tomorrow, no one discusses the munitions site assignment unless given strict permission by Wilson or I, understood?" Kinch asked firmly.

"Yes, Kinch," both Carter and LeBeau said.

"What about the Colonel, Kinch? Shouldn't we let him know what's going on?" The younger sergeant asked.

The radioman sighed heavily.

"Not in his current medical condition, Carter. Besides, you heard what Richard said. With all the medicine he's on to try and help him while waiting to find a cardiologist, he's hardly conscious at all even when awake."

Carter sighed and hung his head.

"Yes, Kinch," he said sadly.

Kinch looked at both of his friends and saw how worried they were about their commanding officer. He was worried sick, too. They needed to keep going, though. They had to get rid of Schneider in order to get Hogan the operation he needed to survive his heart injury.

"The Colonel's gonna be just fine, guys. I promise. We'll figure out how to get rid of Schneider and find a trained cardiologist to perform his operation. We just gotta keep our heads up is all," he said, with sympathy. He knew when tragedy occurred, it always hit both Carter and LeBeau the hardest: Carter being so young, and LeBeau being so emotionally attached to life and loved ones.

Carter shook his head and fought back from trembling, but failed at it.

"I've never seen him so pale before, Kinch...he was so _pale_." The young sergeant gasped.

Kinch walked over to Carter and rubbed his back gently like Hogan did whenever he got worried or upset.

"He's gonna be alright, kid. Colonel Hogan's strong like stone. He's gonna get better and come back to us again," the radioman said softly.

Carter nodded gently.

"I miss him, Kinch," LeBeau sadly said.

"Me too, Louis," Kinch said back.

The three of them sat in silence for a long moment before Carter ended it with one simple question.

"So," he said softly. "What are we gonna do, guys?"

No one answered. They all wanted to know what.

* * *

The rest of the day went uneventful. The next day arrived, and Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau were anxious for Newkirk to come home. Klink had ordered Schultz to do a headcount in the barracks while he went to go pick up the Englishman from the hospital.

The three of Hogan's men were up and out of bed by around 8:30AM. Both Kinch and Carter sat at the table with cups of coffee while waiting on LeBeau's breakfast. The three of them felt more cheerful that morning knowing Newkirk was coming home, but still had a nagging fear on them regarding Hogan's medical condition and the threat of Major Schneider.

"Hear anything from the underground or London yet, Kinch?" The technical sergeant asked, trying to make small talk.

"No, not yet. It'll take a little while yet before we hear anything back from either one of them. There's a lot of people to research and track down." Kinch answered, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I wonder if they've found a candidate yet." LeBeau spoke, as he was flipping a pancake.

"We'll know when they find someone, Louis. Don't worry." The radioman replied.

Baker walked into the barracks and made his way to Kinch and Carter in a hurry.

"I just saw Klink's car pull in the front gate," he reported.

"Newkirk!" Carter cheered. He was about to run out the door, when Kinch grabbed his arm and pushed him back down in his seat.

"Whoa there! Easy, boy. Let's not go charging after Newkirk. We still don't know how severe this mental trauma he's suffering from is. Anything could set him off," he said.

Carter sighed sadly.

"Yes, Kinch," the young sergeant said dimly.

The door opened, and Klink walked in standing besides a content yet tired Newkirk. His left hand was completely wrapped in special gauze that was almost like a cast in a way, a scar was beginning to form on the left side of Newkirk's forehead, and he limped noticeably on his right leg. There was also something off about the Englishman. His eyes seemed slightly clouded over and not completely connected with reality. Like his mind had shut out something in memory that he refused to remember.

Carter, Kinch, and LeBeau stood and made their way to the front of their friend. They all gave him friendly smiles.

"Welcome home, Newkirk," Kinch said.

"We missed you, Pierre," LeBeau said genuinely.

Newkirk gave a soft smile in return.

"Thanks, mates. I missed you guys, too." He answered tiredly.

Carter walked over slowly towards Newkirk and gently hugged him.

"I missed you, buddy," he said, smiling small.

Newkirk smirked and patted his best friend on the shoulder.

"Missed you, too, Andrew," he said.

"Now, I don't want anymore of these accidents to occur, or I will confine all of you to your bunks and strap you down in them. Understood?" Klink hissed.

"Geez, Kommandant. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" Kinch asked innocently.

"I have a lot on my mind, Sergeant Kinchloe! I have to find a cardiologist to perform a lifesaving operation for one of my prisoners, the Gestapo's returning in a few days to follow up with me on any recent sabotage incidents in the area, and I have more paperwork than there are men in the entire Luftwaffe!" Klink retorted.

"Wow! That's a lot of paperwork, Kommandant!" Carter gasped.

Klink groaned and shook his fist before turning on his boot and leaving the barracks.

Once again by themselves, Carter helped Newkirk to sit down at the table, LeBeau went back to making breakfast, and Kinch sat down at the table across from the young sergeant and Newkirk.

"You hungry, Newkirk? LeBeau's making pancakes for breakfast." Kinch spoke.

"Pancakes, huh? What kind are we talking here?" The Englishman asked.

"Just pancakes with butter and syrup. I would've made blueberry pancakes had Schultz not eaten them all." LeBeau grumbled.

"How are you feeling, buddy?" Carter asked, concerned.

"Besides tired, I feel fine." Newkirk answered.

"Don't worry, Newkirk. You'll feel better in another week or two," Kinch said.

The English corporal's face contorted suddenly and began searching the room for something...or someone. Someone was missing in the room. Hogan was missing. Where was he, Newkirk wondered. Was he still asleep, was he in his office working, or was he down in the tunnels monitoring the radio? He was sure that his commanding officer would not miss his homecoming.

"Where's Colonel?" He asked.

"What do you mean 'Where's Colonel'?" Kinch replied, perplexed.

"He wouldn't miss me homecoming. Is he busy with work or something?"

"Newkirk, don't you…" LeBeau whacked Carter with an oven mit to shut him up.

Kinch sighed. How was he going to tell Newkirk the truth? The moment he realized that Newkirk had no memory of what happened to Hogan instantaneously threw up a red flag. Whatever happened the night he and Hogan had gone out on their assignment must have been so traumatic that Newkirk's memory had decided to erase the event all together.

"Newkirk...the Colonel's not here." Kinch began.

The Englishman raised an eyebrow. He was now growing suspicious.

"What do you mean 'not here'? Where is he, then?" He asked.

"He's...in the hospital, Newkirk...he needs a life saving open heart operation, or he's...he'll…" Kinch did not need to finish to make Newkirk realize what the latter was.

The Englishman gaped at the radioman.

"No!" He cried. "How?! Why?! What's wrong with him?!"

Kinch hesitated for a minute. He was not sure whether to lie to Newkirk or tell him the truth of Hogan's injuries and current medical condition regarding his heart. He finally decided to lie and wait for a better time to tell him what really was going on. He wanted Wilson to examine his friend first to determine just how mentally traumatized he was.

"...rheumatic fever," he said.

Carter stared at Kinch surprised. Why was he lying to Newkirk? He decided to keep his mouth shut, knowing there was possibly a good reason why he was doing so.

"How did the Gov'nor get rheumatic fever?" Newkirk asked, worried.

"He drank some old water with bacteria in it."

Newkirk shook his head and sighed sadly.

"Poor Gov'nor. I hope he gets better real soon."

"Don't worry, buddy. Kinch's got the underground and London looking for a cardiologist right as we speak." Carter spoke, cheerful.

"They better find one soon." Newkirk swallowed a lump in his throat. He hated to ask the question, but he had to know the answer to it. "Kinch, mate...how bad is it?"

The sergeant in question gave a heavy sigh.

"It's not good, Newkirk. The Colonel's lost a tremendous amount of blood because of the last surgery he had to have. Carter, actually, is the Colonel's exact blood type, so he donated his blood to be used in the operation once we find a trained surgeon in cardiology."

Newkirk turned to look at Carter in utter shock.

"You donated blood, mate?" He asked.

The technical sergeant blushed, being embarrassed with all the attention.

"Certainly leaves you lightheaded afterwards." He answered.

"What's the Gov'nor's blood type?" Newkirk asked, curious.

"A negative. It's apparently a rarer one." Kinch answered.

"Blimey...good thing Andrew here had the same type. Otherwise we could possibly be dealing with two issues at the same time," Newkirk said, with relief.

Kinch nodded, then turned to look at Carter and LeBeau, who exchanged the same worried look between one another. Should they tell him of Schneider, they thought. If Newkirk asked why Schneider was involved in the mess, they would have to tell him the truth, and that was something they were not ready to risk yet. Newkirk's mental health was too important to them to risk a nervous breakdown. They decided to keep it silent. Their only problem was how long was good enough?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Night quickly fell and soon enough, it was time for all the prisoners in Stalag 13 to go to sleep. It was about midnight, and everyone was sleeping at ease except for one man. Newkirk lay in Carter's bunk tossing and turning being careful of his injuries. Lost in another world, Newkirk cringed and whimpered softly trying to cry out for help.

* * *

 _He was on the ground, when he woke up. His head was pounding, his leg was screaming in pain, and his hand hurt like someone had deliberately tore his skin off of it and left him there to suffer in fierce pain._

 _Newkirk groaned and fluttered his eyes open. The first thing he saw was pitch black. He had no idea whether he was looking at the night sky or the tree branches that hid him from being exposed in the night._

 _He tried to roll over to his right, but almost cried out in agony attempting it. He then decided to try rolling to the left. That hurt less, but when he tried pushing himself up, the pain in his left hand was enough to cause a short yelp from him to escape. He had to get up and get back to camp. Knowing Hogan, he was probably off hiding nearby and waiting for him to meet up with him, or the American was looking for him._

 _After struggling for several minutes, Newkirk finally found a way to get up that did not feel like he was being torn apart from limb to limb. He got to his feet and immediately started limping on his right leg. He looked down to see what was causing him so much grief and saw that his RAF uniform pants had torn and exposed a huge gash in his knee with blood profusely coming out and dripping down his leg._

 _"Ah, great. Just what I needed." He grumbled. He then looked at his left hand to see what that was aching. He could not see well, but he could certainly tell that his hand was completely burned on the top and went up to the middle of his wrist. The bottom seemed unharmed, but the top needed immediate medical attention._

 _Newkirk looked around the area and saw that the munitions site had been completely engulfed by flames. The fence had completely blown off all over the nearby areas. Where was Hogan and Rotes, though, he wondered. Why were they not anywhere near by?_

 _The Englishman started limping around trying to find his commanding officer and the underground member that had come along to help them with the assignment._

 _"Colonel? Are you there, sir?" Newkirk asked._

 _No answer._

 _He tried again._

 _"Colonel...can you hear me?"_

 _No one answered._

 _"Gov'nor?"_

 _Nothing._

 _Newkirk kept limping along, until he stumbled on something. He lowered his eyes to the ground to see what he had come across. Seeing what was before him, he started screaming bloody murder._

* * *

Newkirk sat up in bed shrieking and making blood piercing cries for help. There was one word, though, he kept repeatedly saying when he was not screeching.

"Gov'nor! Gov'nor! Gov'nor!" He howled.

Kinch, Carter, LeBeau, and the rest of the barracks woke up to the startling noise. Kinch and LeBeau hurried to Newkirk's side, and Carter looked down from the top bunk at his best friend in horror.

"What's wrong?" The young sergeant asked, fearful.

"It's Pierre, _mon ami_. He's having an _un cauchemar_." LeBeau answered.

"A cush what?"

"It means 'nightmare'."

"More like a night terror," the radioman said softly. He turned back to Newkirk, lightly grabbed his shoulder, and tried to shake him awake gently. "Newkirk...Newkirk...wake up. It's me: Kinch. You're alright, Newkirk."

"Gov'nor! Gov'nor! GOV'NOR!" The Englishman shrieked.

"Do something, Kinch!" Carter cried. Seeing his best friend so riled up and terrified frightened him. He felt helpless and wanted to do something for him to make him feel better, but he did not know what to do.

"Pierre, wake up! It's just a bad dream, _mon ami_." LeBeau pleaded.

Newkirk's eyes shot open and tried to catch his breath. His face was bathed in sweat, and he felt as if he had just finished running a 5K marathon. He looked around and saw his three friends looking at him. Their faces were filled with worry.

He did not understand why they all looked concerned for him. He went from person, to the next, to the next one, and finally back to the center.

"Why the bloody hell are you three staring at me for?!" The Englishman snapped.

"Are you alright, Pierre?" LeBeau asked, anxious.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were having a nightmare." Kinch answered.

He turned to Kinch surprised.

"I was?" Newkirk asked, stunned.

"You don't remember?" Carter replied.

"Not a damn thing."

"What's the last thing you remember?" The staff sergeant asked.

Newkirk sat there puzzled for a moment, then turned back to his friends.

"I remember saying 'goodnight' to you blokes...and the next thing I know, I'm waking up sweating in me sheets."

"Do you remember dreaming anything?" Kinch asked.

Newkirk shook his head slowly.

"No...I don't mate."

The radioman nodded softly.

"Alright, Newkirk. You just go to sleep and get some rest."

"Good night, mate," Newkirk said.

"Good night, Newkirk," Kinch said.

Once the Englishman had fallen asleep, Kinch signaled for Carter and LeBeau to follow him into Hogan's room. Kinch turned on the light in his commanding officer's room and faced both his friends, who were sitting on Hogan's bottom bunk looking up at him.

"What are we gonna do, Kinch?" Carter asked.

"I think Pierre's getting worse, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau sadly said.

The current Senior POW let out a heavy sigh and crossed his arms.

"I don't know. Whatever happened that night he and the Colonel were injured, whatever he saw had to have been mentally traumatizing...so traumatic, his mind has literally vanished it from memory." He answered.

"What could it be, though?" LeBeau wondered.

"We've gotta get Newkirk talking. Maybe letting it out will help make him feel better," Carter suggested.

"Only one problem with that, _mon ami_ ; he remembers _nothing_."

"Maybe we could re-jog his memory?"

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea, Carter," Kinch said.

"Why not? Isn't it good to talk about your problems with people you trust?" The young sergeant asked, puzzled.

"In most cases, yes, it is. As for the situation regarding Newkirk, who knows what mental trauma we could cause him trying to force him to remember. It could worsen his condition than it already is."

"What do we do, then?"

"I'm gonna talk with Wilson in the morning. Maybe he'll know how to do something to help him."

"You think Pierre is going to be alright, Kinch?" LeBeau asked, worried.

"I don't know, Louis. I wish I could give you a definite answer." The radioman answered.

"Kinch...you think Colonel Hogan's gonna make it?" Carter quivered.

Kinch sighed heavily and looked at his younger equivalent with sympathy.

"Carter, if I knew the answer to that question, I'd have a million dollars," he said softly.

* * *

"What do you mean 'there aren't any'?!" LeBeau snapped. The little Frenchman and Carter gathered around Kinch the next day at the radio, as they listened to the report General Berkman had on finding a cardiologist. (1)

" _I'm sorry, Corporal LeBeau. I've had my men search every hospital in London and not a darn doctor is in knowledge of being an expert in cardiology_." The old general sighed. He sounded tired and as if he were losing hope. The three men felt sorry for Berkman. It was not any easier on him than it was for them. Hogan was basically a son to the old man and did everything he could to make sure their operation soared flawlessly.

"It's alright, General. You did all you could, and that's all that matters. What now?" Kinch asked.

" _I've sent one of my men, Lieutenant Rickers, to Paris to try and find a cardiologist there. I know France has been heard of for several medical successes in Europe. Hopefully they'll have someone willing to do the job_."

LeBeau stood tall and proud.

"My beautiful France will _not_ let you down, General Berkman!" The little Frenchman spoke patriotically.

"What happens...if you can't find a doctor in Paris, General?" Carter asked, worry shaking in his voice.

Berkman grew silent before answering.

" _If France proves to fail in having a trained top of the line cardiologist, then I might be forced to look into German sources_."

"German sources!" All three of them exclaimed.

"General Berkman, there's gotta be another option. Doctors in America perhaps?" Kinch suggested.

"There's gotta be _someone_ back home if all else fails, sir," Carter said, hoping he was right.

" _There are too many places to search in the United States for a doctor. New York City. Boston. Los Angeles. Houston. Chicago. Minneapolis...by the time I found someone, it could be too late for Robert_." The old general answered sadly.

Kinch sighed. He did not like it, but he understood it.

"Couldn't you send more than one person to search in different states?" The radioman questioned. Perhaps there was still some way to avoid using German sources for help.

" _Where am I going to scrounge up that many men, Sergeant?! I'm not a miracle worker! I wouldn't turn to German sources unless it was absolutely necessary, and if France fails, then it's the only chance we have at saving Robert_!" Berkman snapped.

Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter were taken aback from hearing the general's tone of voice. Not once had Berkman ever snapped at them. Sure, they have been barked at by several generals in London, but Berkman was always patient and understanding. He had never barked at anyone before unless it was one of his colleagues back in London to allow Hogan and his men to perform some task for the operation or get them what they requested as soon as possible.

The old man could be heard sighing heavily.

" _I'm sorry, Sergeant Kinchloe...it's just...it's a difficult situation for me to deal with is all_."

Kinch gave a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, General. We know you'll do whatever you can to find the Colonel a doctor," he said softly.

Sniffling was heard as a response. Was Berkman _crying_?

" _I can't lose him, Sergeant...that man's like a son to me_." Berkman quivered.

"We won't let that happen, sir. All of us are gonna do everything we can to find a doctor and perform that operation. Colonel Hogan's gonna be just fine. We have the underground here searching for a doctor working with them as we speak. We have yet to hear back from them, maybe _they_ found someone."

Berkman sighed.

" _I hope you're right, Sergeant Kinchloe_ ," he said, exhausted.

"We'll let you go, General. Let us know what your man finds in Paris."

" _The minute I do, you'll know_."

"Papa Bear out."

" _General Berkman over and out_."

The line went dead, then the three of them turned to one another and sighed.

"Sure hope there's someone in Paris to help the Colonel," Carter softly said.

"There _will_ be, _mon ami_. My beautiful Paris will not fail us!" LeBeau remarked, sure of himself.

"I hope you're right, Louis...I'm worried, guys."

"We're all worried, Carter, but we've gotta be strong...for the Colonel. He needs us now," Kinch said.

"He's always been there for _us_. It's our turn to be there for _him_." LeBeau replied.

"Exactly, Louis."

Carter let out an uneasy breath.

"Can we go see him, Kinch? I'd feel better seeing he hasn't gotten any worse." The young sergeant wondered.

"I'll talk to Klink about it later. I've gotta go discuss Newkirk's condition with Wilson." Kinch answered. He let out a deep breath then started for the ladder. "Wish me luck."

The radioman walked out of the radio room, leaving only Carter and LeBeau left.

"We could _all_ use some luck right now, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau sadly said, and propped his head up with his arm on the table.

* * *

(1) General Alfred Berkman is a character I created myself and Hogan's commanding officer. He first appears in my story _'Coming Into The Light'_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

Kinch entered into the infirmary to find Wilson making one of the beds. He looked up at the current Senior POW and approached him with concern on his face.

"What's wrong, Kinch? You look worried." The medic asked.

The radioman crossed his arms and sighed.

"That I am, Joe," he said softly.

"Is it the Colonel?"

"No...it's not. It's Newkirk."

"What's wrong with him? I checked him out yesterday when he got home. He seemed fine."

"After last night, I beg to differ."

"Why? What happened? Is Newkirk alright?"

"Physically, yes...mentally...I'm not sure."

"Explain."

Kinch was silent for a brief moment before answering.

"There was a nightmare last night."

Wilson sat down on the cot he had just finished making and gave his friend his undivided attention.

"I'm listening," he said calmly.

"We were all asleep until Carter, Louis, and I heard him start screaming out in his sleep for the Colonel. We think it has something to do with the night they were both hurt."

"You _think_?"

Kinch sighed and nodded.

"He woke up and couldn't remember a thing."

Wilson hung his head and shook it softly.

"I was afraid you would say that. He didn't seem like he recalled anything regarding that night yesterday while examining him, either."

"He _doesn't_ recall anything from that night. The last thing he remembers is going out that night with the Colonel to meet with Rotes. There's nothing after that."

"Oh, Newkirk…" The camp medic rubbed the back of his neck and grew a perturbed expression on his face.

"What is it, Joe?" Kinch asked, concerned.

"I think Newkirk might be suffering from a form of psychological repression."

"Psychological repression. What's that?"

"It's a coping mechanism to protect the mind from anxiety and stress. When the mind has seen something too much for it to handle, it shoves it deep into the subconscious mind and unconscious parts and forgets the event altogether. It's to protect the mind from having a serious mental breakdown. Whatever Newkirk saw that night, it was traumatic enough that his mind has forced that memory to be completely forgotten from his conscious state."

"How do you fix it? Should we tell him what happened the night the Colonel was hurt?"

"I would not recommend that idea...for _now_ , at least. Lord knows _how_ he'll react to it. It could cause him to mentally snap. What does he think is wrong with the Colonel for the moment?"

"For the moment, we have him believing that the Colonel's sick from rheumatic fever and that it's causing damage to his heart."

"Keep it like that for now. Newkirk has to remember it slowly in order to prevent any mental and emotional trauma. Maybe it'll come back to him all on his own."

"And if it doesn't?"

Wilson let out a heavy breath.

"Then I'm afraid we'll have to tell him gently. Don't be abrupt with it, though. You could cause Newkirk to go into a state of despondence."

"You mean like...you mean like a coma?" Kinch asked, holding back his anxiety.

"Worse," Wilson said. He was silent before speaking again. "Catatonic."

"I don't know what that is...but I have a feeling I'm not gonna like it."

"You _aren't_ gonna like it, either. Catatonic schizophrenia. It's a mental illness that causes a person to shut down completely. They just sit there. They don't move, they don't speak...nothing. It's like they have lost connection with this reality and gone into a completely different world of their own. It's easy to tell they're disconnected, too. The patient's eyes are clouded over and don't make contact with other people. They're completely gone."

The staff sergeant swallowed a knot forming in his throat. Would they actually lose Newkirk to severe mental trauma? He could not let that happen. He _wouldn't_ let that happen. They were close to losing Hogan, they would not lose Newkirk, too. On top of that, poor Carter would be devastated if he lost Newkirk. The Englishman had become his best friend, and Hogan was like a dad to him. Losing both of them would kill the young sergeant. Kinch would not allow for Carter to suffer such tremendous losses and would do everything he could to prevent that from happening.

The radioman sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Can't you do anything to prevent that, Joe?" Kinch asked, worried.

Joe shook his head softly.

"No...I can not, Kinch. I'm sorry."

"What do we do, then? We could lose the Colonel already, we can't lose Newkirk, too."

"Just follow my medical advice. When you feel he's ready, tell him easily. Don't be so blunt about it."

Kinch nodded sadly.

"Should I tell Louis and Carter about...you know…"

"That's up to you, my friend. If you wish for them to know, then that's your call. I'd recommend it, however. It will help them to know what you three are up against."

"True. I'll let you know if anything changes, Joe. Thanks."

Wilson nodded.

"Not a problem at all, Sergeant."

Kinch left the infirmary and headed towards Klink's office. While walking, he sighed sadly and shook his head.

"Oh, Newkirk...what have you gotten yourself into now?"

* * *

"Absolutely not!" Klink spat, glaring hard at his current Senior POW.

"Come on, Kommandant. Both Sergeant Carter and Corporal LeBeau are worrying themselves ill not knowing what condition the Colonel's in. On top of that, Newkirk could use the visit, too. He hasn't seen the Colonel since he got injured himself." Kinch spoke, trying to persuade the old German colonel. Klink had been moody since the visit from Major Hochstetter and Major Schneider.

"I will not have my prisoners going in and out of camp willy nilly! First you're asking to see Colonel Hogan, then you're asking for dinners out of town, then finally you don't come back at all! I think _not_ , Sergeant Kinchloe!" The Kommandant hissed.

"What if Sergeant Schultz came along to supervise? He's tough. Mean. Aggressive. _None_ of us would mess around then."

Klink pondered that thought for a moment.

"Hmmmmmm," he said, rubbing his chin with his fingers. "You make an excellent point, Sergeant Kinchloe...alright. I will allow you four to visit...but if such as _one_ attempted escape is reported back to me by Sergeant Schultz, I'll make sure none of you see so much as another _car_ until the end of the war!"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. You're always so humane yet firm, Kommandant."

Klink puffed out his chest and smiled boldly at the compliment.

"I am, aren't I," he said to himself proudly.

He turned to Kinch and nodded, then gave him a salute.

Kinch gave a sloppy salute in return and left Klink's office.

* * *

"Really?!" Carter cried, with excitement.

"Tomorrow evening after roll call," Kinch said, nodding. All four of Hogan's men were in his room discussing what Klink had told the leading sergeant earlier.

"Oh boy! I've gotta get started on a 'Get Well' card for him!"

"I'll help you, _mon ami_!" LeBeau spoke jittery.

"I wanna come along, too, mate," Newkirk said softly.

" _All_ of us are going. The Colonel needs us to be there for him right now. He needs to know we're wishing him a speedy recovery." Kinch answered.

"You hear anything back from London, Kinch?" Carter asked, curious.

"Not from London, and not from the underground."

"Wonder what's taking them so long." LeBeau wondered.

"The underground's got a lot of contacts, Louis. We probably won't hear from them for another few days or longer," the radioman said, crossing his arms.

"Kinch...do you think General Berkman will find someone in Paris?" The technical sergeant asked, worried.

"...I don't know, Carter. All we can do now is pray and hope either the underground or London can find a doctor."

"Bloody hell, _I_ could find a doctor quicker than they will. The Gov'nor could bleedin' die at any moment!" Newkirk hissed.

"They will find someone, _mon ami_. I trust General Berkman with my life. He will find someone in Paris, I _know_ it," LeBeau said, proud.

"Can yah guarantee that, Louis? I could sure use some reassurance."

Kinch turned to LeBeau and Carter quickly, then back at Newkirk. He had to tell them what Wilson had told him, but how would he get the Englishman out of the room without causing suspicion, he wondered.

"Newkirk, could you go man the radio and see if anyone calls in? Come get me if you hear something." The radioman finally answered.

"Sure thing, mate," Newkirk said. He got to his feet slowly and limped out of the room. Being back for only two days, he was sure gaining strength back in his right leg quickly. He was close to walking normally again.

Once Kinch was sure Newkirk was out of hearing range and not returning, he let out a heavy sigh and turned back to his two friends sitting on Hogan's bunk.

"What is it, Kinch?" LeBeau asked, worried.

"Joe told me what he thinks could be wrong with Newkirk." The current Senior POW answered.

"What is it, buddy?" Carter asked.

"Newkirk is going through psychological repression," Kinch said.

Both LeBeau and Carter stared at Kinch like he was speaking Chinese to them.

He continued.

"His mind is so traumatized by whatever happened the night he and the Colonel were injured, that it has literally erased it from conscious memory. Only his subconscious and unconscious self remembers it, but when he's awake, he recalls nothing...as if it never happened. It's to protect himself from great mental stress and trauma."

"So...like amnesia?" Carter asked, confused.

"Not...exactly," Kinch said. He did not know how to explain it any better.

"Do we tell him, Kinch?" LeBeau questioned.

"Wilson says to not. At least not yet. He says to give Newkirk time and see if he remembers on his own. If not, we'll have to break it to him gently." The radioman answered. Kinch's face read that there was more he was not telling them.

"What is it, _mon ami_?" LeBeau worried.

"There's something else...but I don't know how to tell you two."

"Just say it, Kinch. We can take it."

The staff sergeant shook his head.

"I'm more concerned for Carter," he said sadly.

The young sergeant's eyes popped out, his pupils dilating a little. Now he was _really_ worried.

"What is it, Kinch?" He quivered.

"There's a chance Newkirk may not be able to handle what happened to him that night, when he remembers it...he could possibly begin to suffer from catatonic schizophrenia."

"Huh?"

"Kinch, _none_ of us know what that means," LeBeau said.

"It's a very severe mental illness...it causes a person to become frozen stiff, despondent, mute, they basically go into a coma...but they're awake...and sometimes it's worse than a coma...Newkirk will form his own version of reality and disconnect with this one. It could possibly be...permanent."

Carter's eyes were watering, and he started shaking his head.

"No...no...no, no, no!" He cried.

"I'm sorry, Carter," Kinch said, sincere.

The young sergeant bolted out of Hogan's room.

"André, wait!" LeBeau called out.

Kinch held back the little Frenchman from going after him.

"Let him go, Louis...he needs to be alone," he said, soft.

LeBeau shook his head softly and sighed.

"Poor Pierre...is there anything we can do to prevent this from happening?"

"For the moment, the only thing Wilson says we can do is to ease him into remembering himself or telling him gently if it grows to that...we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"First _mon Colonel_ , now Pierre. What's happening to us, _mon ami_?"

"If I had an answer for you, LeBeau, I would tell yah."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

The next day passed with nothing eventful besides Klink getting a chilling phone call from Schneider. The major had warned the old Kommandant that he would return tomorrow for further questioning and would use 'special methods' if he found it necessary. For the rest of the day, Klink seemed anxious and jumpy. The Gestapo major seemed to make more than just Hogan's men tense.

Evening soon fell, and Schultz drove Kinch, Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau to see their commander. The young sergeant did not say much the entire day and was dead silent on the drive to the hospital.

Newkirk looked over at his best friend and grew worried. He had never seen Carter so silent and saddened before.

"Andrew," he said gently. "Are you alright, mate?" He was genuinely concerned. Sure, Carter irritated him out of his mind sometimes, but he loved the man as a little brother. If something was bugging him, he was always the first one to try and make him feel better in any way he could possible.

The young man sniffled, but never said a word.

Newkirk looked at Kinch worried.

The radioman nodded.

"He's just worried about the Colonel is all," he said.

The Englishman turned to look at Carter again, then nodded.

"The Gov'nor's gonna be alright, Andrew. Don't worry," he said, smiling small.

Carter nodded just barely. That was as much of a response he was going to give anyone.

* * *

The five of them arrived to the hospital around eight that evening. While Schultz waited outside in the floor sitting room, Kinch, Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau walked to Hogan's room.

Kinch grabbed the doorknob gently and opened the door to find their commanding officer as he had been the last time, except he looked worse.

Hogan's skin had gone full pale now. His eyelids were almost black, dark circles formed around his eyes, and had it not been for his chest rising and falling uneasy, he could have easily been mistaken for a corpse.

Carter walked towards Hogan and sat down on his right side. He took hold of Hogan's left hand and held it tight in his grasp. He felt if he let go of him, he would lose his commanding officer forever. He shut his eyes tight, though tears managed to escape and fall down his face.

Kinch and LeBeau made their way over to the colonel, and LeBeau sat down in the chair beside the bed. The radioman stood behind the little Frenchman and placed his hands on his shoulders gently.

"Hi, Colonel...it's Carter here, sir." The young sergeant softly spoke.

"I'm here, too, Colonel," Kinch said.

" _Oui_ , so am I, Colonel," LeBeau said.

Newkirk stood in the door frame just standing there and staring blankly at the sleeping form on the bed. His body had suddenly froze and could not move or speak. His mind was running blank and was hardly comprehending what was currently going on. The only thing the Englishman managed to do was swallow a huge knot in his throat. Even that took serious will power for him at the moment.

"Don't worry, Colonel. You're gonna feel better really soon...General Berkman and the underground are searching for a cardiologist right now...he's going as far as _Paris_ to find one, sir." Carter spoke.

"He will find one in Paris, _mon Colonel_. France will not fail you," LeBeau said proudly.

"We won't stop searching until we find one, sir. We promise you that. You would do the same for us, if it were the other way around," Kinch said.

"Boy, do I wish you were here right now, Colonel...we need you, boy, I mean sir." Carter corrected himself.

"We are, how would you Americans say it, stuck in a rut right now," LeBeau said sadly.

Hogan did not respond. He remained deep in sleep.

Newkirk began breathing harder, his eyes clouded over, and seemed to not recognize where he was. He stormed out of the room and began running.

Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau sat there in sad silence with their ailing commander. They hung their heads and prayed for Hogan to get better, when they heard a blood curdling screech out in the halls.

"What was that?!" LeBeau cried, his head shooting up.

"Where's Newkirk?" Kinch asked, seeing his friend was no longer with them. He was now becoming anxious.

"Newkirk!" Carter wailed. He made a run out of the room followed shortly by LeBeau and Kinch.

* * *

"GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR! SOMEONE, HELP! HE'S HURT! HELP! SOMEBODY! _ANYBODY_!" Newkirk shrieked, down the halls.

Klaussner ran down from the other hall and ran towards Newkirk before anyone else could get a hold of him.

"Newkirk! Newkirk!" Klaussner called out.

He ran towards the Englishman and pinned him to the wall. It took serious effort from the old man. Newkirk was lashing out and trying to escape his grasps.

"GET OFF OF ME! HELP! THE GOV'NOR'S HURT, HELP!" Newkirk hollered.

"Newkirk, get a hold of yourself! It's Dr. Klaussner! You're in a hospital! What's the matter with you?!" The old doctor hissed. Suddenly, his eyes gaped seeing the condition his friend was in. Newkirk's eyes were disconnected from reality and living inside his own mind. He did not seem to be looking at the doctor, either. He was shaking, sweating slightly, and his skin seemed slightly off color.

By the time Carter, LeBeau, and Kinch arrived, Newkirk was coming out of whatever it was he just suffered from. The Englishman's eyes were clenched shut and breathing both uneasy and heavily. He was still shaking, but his color was slowly coming back. After what felt like hours, Newkirk slowly opened his eyes and saw he was gripping onto Klaussner's shoulders with an iron clasp. He slowly removed his hands and put his arms at his side. He hung his head and shook it. Boy, did he have a headache.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to be grasping yah like that." He then looked around, not recognizing his surroundings. "How did I get here? I don't remember walking down here."

Klaussner raised an eyebrow.

"What's the last thing you remember, Newkirk?" The underground agent questioned.

The corporal in question stood there for a minute while collecting his thoughts.

"I was...walking down the hall with me mates Kinch, Louis, and Andrew...then we entered into the Gov'nor's room, and I was starting to make my way over to him...after that, I can't recall," he said, stunned. He kept thinking back to the last few minutes, but nothing would come to him. "All of a sudden, I somehow ended up here."

"Are you absolutely sure that's all you remember?" Klaussner asked.

Newkirk slowly nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said honestly. He looked back up at his friend. "Can I go back to the Gov'nor's room now?"

Klaussner crossed his arms and nodded gently.

Newkirk headed towards Hogan's room, when Kinch's voice stopped him.

"We'll be there in a minute, Newkirk. You start without us."

"Gotcha, mate."

Once Newkirk had left, Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau got closer to Klaussner.

"What the hell just happened?" The old man demanded.

The three of Hogan's men turned to look at one another, then back to Klaussner.

"We don't know," LeBeau said.

"He just disappeared all of a sudden." Carter added.

"Do _you_ know what happened, Doc?" Kinch asked.

"Like he suffered some sort of mental breakdown." Klaussner spoke, to himself.

"Joe said he thought it was psychological repression," Kinch said.

The doctor sighed heavily and shook his head.

"I think Joe might be right. He's rarely been wrong with his diagnoses all the times I've worked with him."

"What do we do, _mon ami_?" LeBeau asked, concerned.

"I don't _want_ Newkirk to become catatonic!" Carter exclaimed.

"Easy there, men. Newkirk's not going to become catatonic. We won't let it go that far." The old man spoke, trying to ease their nerves. He knew how much strain Hogan and Newkirk's current conditions were on them.

"There's gotta be something you can do, Richard. Medicine, therapy, a psychologist for God's sake," Kinch suggested.

"I am not trained in psychology enough to treat Peter for what he is going through. I'm sorry, Kinch, but I am no help to your friend." Klaussner sighed.

"What can _we_ do to help him?" LeBeau asked.

"Joe said that telling him what happened that night and forcing him to remember it may cause his mind to snap." The radioman added.

"It might be the only option your _left_ with, Sergeant," Klaussner said softly.

"Richard, it could _destroy_ Pierre!" LeBeau gasped.

"Whatever it was he saw that night, his mind is trying to repress it in order to heal itself. Now, it can go one of two ways. It can either cause him to gradually remember, and he'll be able to accept it once he remembers fully and has a support group...as for the other possibility, he could remember it and could possibly completely shut down."

Kinch sighed heavily.

"That's what Joe said, too," he said.

"Talk to him...comfort him in his distress...he needs you three now more than ever. All of you are the key to his future mental stability." Klaussner continued.

" _We_ are?" Carter asked, shocked.

"Yes, Carter. _You_ three. If Colonel Hogan makes it through, him, too."

"Speaking of the Colonel, I've been meaning to talk to you, Richard. No one from the underground has called us back yet regarding finding him a trained surgeon to perform the Colonel's operation. You know how the process is going?" Kinch asked, crossing his arms.

The old doctor let out a heavy breath.

"Were contacting everyone we know. From Berlin to Sicily."

"There's members of the underground in Sicily?" The young sergeant asked, surprised.

"Carter, my boy, there's underground contacts all over the world. Germany is just the beginning of where some of them are."

"Oh," he said, nodding.

"But no one's reported anything yet?" Kinch asked, getting the conversation back on track.

Klaussner hung his head and shook it.

"I'm afraid not, Kinch. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, _mon ami_. It's not your fault," LeBeau said, with compassion. He knew it could not be any easier on the old man. He was a good friend of Hogan's and the best doctor they could ask for.

"If you excuse me, I have a patient I need to tend to." Klaussner slowly walked off from the group, hanging his head.

Kinch sighed and shook his head sadly.

"Poor Richard. He's beating himself up about the Colonel," he said softly.

" _Oui_. It's not his fault. Doctors can't be good at everything." LeBeau added.

"Couldn't he just _try_ to perform the operation himself?" Carter asked, curious.

"Afraid not, Carter. It's like a person poorly skilled in math trying to figure out a complicated equation." Kinch answered.

" _Unlikely_." LeBeau groaned.

* * *

Newkirk sat by Hogan's legs on the right. He watched his commanding officer sleep peacefully and fight for his life.

Hogan's hands were placed on his belly and had not made a single movement since the Englishman suffered his mental episode.

Newkirk grabbed Hogan's right hand, careful of the IV in it, and held it tight in his.

"Hey, Gov'nor...it's your old mate, Newkirk, here. Sorry about earlier...I don't know what got into me...next thing I know I'm down the hall and unaware of what's going on." He fell silent after that. He was still dazed at how he got there. He could not have just 'poofed' from one place to the next. It was impossible both physically and mentally. Something happened from the time he entered Hogan's room to the time he realized he was in the hospital hallway...but what was it was the answer Newkirk died to know. "Gov'nor...yah gotta get better, sir...I need yah, Gov. I don't know what's happening to me, Colonel...I can't remember what happened the night of our assignment, how I got me injuries, Kinch says I was screaming last night in me sleep from a nightmare, now I somehow made my way into the hallway just now and found meself grabbing Richard to the point I thought I'd break his arms off...what's happening to me, Gov'nor? I don't know _what's_ going on."

Hogan's eyes fluttered open and looked at his close friend with a small smile. His eyes were barely open, but they were open enough to tell he was awake.

"What are you rambling about, Newkirk?" He asked, raspy and meek.

Newkirk turned his head and smiled.

"Gov'nor...you're awake," he said, smiling.

The colonel groaned.

"Barely," he croaked out.

Newkirk sighed heavily and continued.

"Colonel...you remember what happened the night of our assignment?"

Hogan just barely rose an eyebrow. He was confused.

"You know...you were there."

The Englishman shook his head gently.

"No...I don't."

"What do you mean 'I don't'?"

"Gov'nor, I can't remember a damn thing. I remember leaving camp, meeting up with someone in the underground...and then everything's a complete blank."

Before Hogan got the chance to answer, Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau walked back into the room. They smiled seeing their commanding officer awake.

"Colonel, you're awake," LeBeau said happily.

Hogan was fighting to stay awake.

"Somewhat," he grumbled.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"...just...just...get the...bird…" Hogan said, slipping.

"Colonel?" Carter asked, worried.

"Huh," the American officer moaned. Whether he was still with it or not was hard to tell.

"You alright, Colonel?" LeBeau asked, concerned.

Hogan took a sharp breath of air in suddenly.

"Colonel?!" Carter cried.

The colonel started gasping for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Gov'nor...don't quit on us, sir. Stay with us, Gov'nor, stay with us!" Newkirk pleaded.

"Carter, get Richard! Hurry!" Kinch pleaded.

The young sergeant hurried out of Hogan's room calling out Klaussner's name.

Newkirk grabbed Hogan by his shoulders and started shaking him.

"Colonel! Colonel! Don't quit on me, Gov'nor! Come on, Gov'nor! SNAP OUT OF IT, GOV'NOR!"

"Pierre, stop! You'll hurt him!" LeBeau ordered. The little Frenchman was growing afraid.

Klaussner rushed in with four other doctors behind him. The underground doctor pushed Newkirk off of his patient.

"Get off of him, Newkirk!"

"GOV'NOR! WAKE UP, SIR! GOV'NOR!"

"Sedate him!"

A doctor quickly grabbed the Englishman and injected something into his arm. Newkirk quickly fell unconscious and collapsed to the ground.

Having the quiet environment he needed now, Klaussner immediately turned back to Hogan, then back to his colleagues.

"He's crashing. Get me a dosage of amiodarone, stat," the old man ordered.

"Yes, Doctor," a young man, Klaussner's assistant, said, and hurried out of the room.

"What's wrong with him?!" Carter wailed.

"He's suffering a heart attack. I need to get that medicine in him quickly, or he'll go into cardiac arrest." The old man answered, trying to remain calm.

The doctor Klaussner had sent out had returned with the injection of amiodarone and handed it to the old man.

"Come on, Robert. Stay with us now," he softly said.

After injecting Hogan's IV stream, the American colonel seemed to relax his breathing and was peacefully asleep now. Klaussner took his stethoscope and listened to Hogan's heart. He was pleased with his results.

"Heart rate's regulating," he reported.

Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter sighed with relief. Knowing Hogan was stable now, Carter walked towards Newkirk and knelt down besides him.

After dismissing his colleagues, Klaussner gave a heavy breath and turned to look at the three of his friends.

"He's _gotta_ get that operation and soon, or he's going to go into cardiac arrest, and it _will_ be fatal." The old doctor warned.

"I know, Richard...I _know_. We're searching high and low for a cardiologist. I think I've contacted just about anyone I can get a hold of," Kinch sadly said. "There's gotta be _something_ you can do to delay it, Richard."

Klaussner looked at Kinch with empathy.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant...but I just don't have anymore I can do for him."

The current Senior POW sighed and hung his head.

LeBeau looked at Carter and Newkirk, then at Klaussner and frowned.

"Richard?" That was all the little Frenchman had to ask.

"He needs to know... _now_."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

After being reassured that Hogan would be alright for the moment's notice, Schultz took the four of Hogan's men back to Stalag 13. They were all surprised to get out of Klink's staff car and find another staff car with Gestapo flags on it outside the Kommandantur's.

"What's going on?" Carter asked.

Kinch hurried towards the barracks with LeBeau and the confused technical sergeant trailing behind him.

"Hey, wait a minute! Wait for me, blokes!" Newkirk called out.

The Englishman chased after his friends on a limp, while Schultz parked Klink's car and hurried inside his commanding officer's office.

* * *

"Major Hochstetter," Klink gasped. "I thought you and Major Schneider weren't coming out until tomorrow!"

"We decided to handle matters sooner than later, Klink," Hochstetter said, rather soothing. It sent chills down the colonel's spine.

Schneider stood tall besides Hochstetter. He said nothing and looked disconnected from life. His dark blue eyes looked clouded over, faint black circles formed around them, and his skin was pale to a crisp. The man looked like a hardened criminal to Klink. The old kommandant feared that Schneider would snap at any moment and just shoot him for sitting there.

Klink gulped and turned to look at Hochstetter. The short fused Gestapo major terrified him; but the older, taller, and somewhat possessed major shook him more. What he would not give at that moment than for Hogan to barge in and use his cunning and persuasive skills to get the two men to leave his office and not return. Klink did not have the courage his Senior POW Officer held. He sometimes wondered where Hogan got it from, and where he might be able to gain some of it. For now, and hopefully not forever, he was on his own. He would protect Hogan and his other prisoners at all costs. But for that very moment, he did not know how.

"Yes, Major Hochstetter. Proceed." He trembled.

"The man we found near the site of the demolished munitions site has finally been identified. A man by the name of Johannes Neumann, or his code name Rotes Hemd. According to his files, he was one of the underground's finest agents. Knew enough military secrets to destroy the entire Third Reich," Hochstetter said, a slight edge to his voice.

"Wouldn't that be a _good_ thing, Major?" Klink asked, confused.

"For the Third Reich, yes...for _you_ , that's a different situation…" The short Gestapo major leaned forward and got so close to Klink's face, the kommandant thought he would fall out of his chair.

"Why is that, Major?" The old German colonel was now shivering, but it was not from the cold temperatures in the bitter nights of late October.

"I suspect your," Hochstetter chuckled. "Forgive me... _we_ suspect that your Senior POW Officer had something to do with that night's sabotage…"

"Major Hochstetter, I told you already that Colonel Hogan is in the hospital. He has a _serious_ medical illness, almost to the point of being fatal."

"Serves the man right. After everything he's done to the Third Reich, he's lucky I don't barge into his room and shoot him myself!"

"Easy, Major," Schneider said coolly. "If that man doesn't die from the pain of his ailment, he'll die from the torture under the Gestapo." The old man had a callous grin on his face. Klink could have sworn he saw termites in the man's teeth. Suddenly, the kommandant was breaking into a sweat. Never in his life had he been so afraid of someone in his life. _Major Hochstetter_ scared him less than this man.

Klink swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.

"What else is there?" He shuddered.

Hochstetter grabbed something out of his jacket pocket and threw it onto Klink's desk. It was small and glimmered in the office's lights. Klink picked the object up, carefully examining it, and gasped once he realized what it was: one of Hogan's eagle pins. _Hogan_ , he thought to himself.

"Look familiar, Klink?" Schneider cooed.

After coming out of his shock, Klink shook his head and threw the pin back onto his desk.

"That could belong to _anybody_. A _German_ for all we know could have been carrying that around with him."

"Where would a German get an American colonel's eagle from, Klink?" Schneider interrogated.

The old German gulped hard.

"Someone in the Gestapo perhaps dropped it on their way back to headquarters?"

Schneider frowned.

"You question the capabilities of the Gestapo?!" He barked.

"No, Major Schneider. I think the Gestapo does a _wonderful_ job at what they do. Even better than the Luftwaffe! You know, I was telling General Burkhalter just the other day that…"

"Shut up, Klink!"

"Yes, sir. Shutting up, sir." Klink slouched further in his desk chair. He knew logically that hiding behind his desk would not save him, but it was comforting enough for him in the meanwhile.

"That belongs to a certain Colonel you know, no?"

"Oh, I know _lots_ of colonels, Major: Colonel Mueller of Stalag 5, Colonel Baacher of Stalag 7, Colonel Krueger of Stalag 27, Colonel von Hindenberg of Stalag…"

"KLINK!"

"Yes, that looks _very_ much like something Colonel Hogan would wear!"

Schneider leaned back and gave another cold grin.

"Very good, Klink. You will find it much easier to cooperate with me rather than avoid questions, yes?" He asked, with malice.

Klink swallowed again, his throat suddenly becoming dry. Not able to speak, all he could do was nod forcefully.

"We will be back, Colonel Klink. Perhaps then, you'll be more obedient." The old man continued.

"Yes, Major Schneider. I will answer every question with cooperation, sir," Klink said meekly.

" _Heil Hitler_!"

" _Heil Hitler_ …"

Schneider and Hochstetter made their way out of Klink's office, leaving the colonel himself alone with his fear and anxiety. Once sure the two men were not returning, Klink grabbed his phone faster than he ever had.

"Get me General Burkhalter in Berlin and hurry! Tell him it's an emergency!"

* * *

Kinch unplugged the coffee pot, and LeBeau turned to look at Carter. The young sergeant seemed to be trembling viciously. The old Gestapo major made poor Carter more scared than any Gestapo officer he had ever laid eyes on.

"Boy," he croaked. "That Major Schneider is sure something."

"What I wouldn't give to wrap my hands around his neck." LeBeau growled. The major made him ill. How _dare_ he try to hurt Hogan. Had it not been for their commanding officer, many innocent lives would be lost now. Had it not been for Hogan, many military plans by the Allies would have been a failure. Had it not been for him, the Allies would be losing the war right now.

"How did one of Colonel Hogan's eagles get there, though?"

"He probably forgot to take them out of his pocket being in a hurry to get to the rendezvous point."

"What does this Major Schneider want with the Gov'nor? He didn't cause any explosion to happen recently." Newkirk asked, confused.

Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter turned to look at one another, then back to Newkirk. _Should we tell him_ , they all thought. Klaussner had warned them to tell him immediately after what occurred in the hospital, but the question remained: was Newkirk _ready_ to know what happened that night?

The Englishman's eyes glowered and began to grow irritated.

"Alright, _out_ with it. I know something's being kept from me around here, but I don't know _what_ that might be. I may not remember a few things, but I ain't stupid, either!"

"It's not that, buddy. We don't think you're stupid," Carter said, trying to ease his best friend's growing anxiety.

"What is it then, Andrew?!" He snapped. "What are you blokes so worried of telling me?! I wanna know what this is all about, and I wanna know _now_! What's this Major Schneider want with the Gov'nor?!"

Kinch sighed uneasily, then closed his eyes and nodded.

"Alright, Newkirk...we'll tell you," he said softly.

"Kinch, we can't!" Carter exclaimed.

"We don't know for certain!" LeBeau cried.

"He'll be alright, guys...it's time." Kinch remarked, stern.

Carter looked at the staff sergeant with his mouth quivering, and his pupils dilating slightly.

Kinch turned to him and nodded with his eyes. _He's gonna be alright, Carter_ , they said.

The young sergeant nodded softly and turned to look at Newkirk again. The Englishman had an eyebrow raised.

"Why wouldn't I be alright?" He asked, suspicious.

LeBeau sighed heavily and gestured to Hogan's bed.

"Sit down, _mon ami_...you'll need to for this," the little Frenchman said.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

Newkirk sat down slowly on Hogan's bottom bunk. He rubbed his aching right leg for a moment, then returned his attention to his friends standing before him.

"I'm listening," he said matter-of-factly.

LeBeau and Carter turned to Kinch for assistance.

The radioman let out a silent breath, then turned to the Englishman again.

"It happened the night you and the Colonel went out to meet an underground member to assist with the munitions site job," Kinch said.

"What about it?"

"...Newkirk...what exactly do you remember from that night? Try to think of everything you can possible."

"The Gov'nor and I left camp...we stopped at the rendezvous point and met up with someone...I can't remember the bloke's name or what he looked like...after that…" Newkirk shook his head. "I can't remember."

Kinch licked his dry lips and swallowed before speaking again.

"Does a 'Rotes Hemd' ring a bell to you?"

The Englishman snapped his attention back to his friend and looked at him carefully.

"Rotes Hemd," he said, flat.

"He was the one assisting you and _mon Colonel_ that night, Pierre," LeBeau said softly.

Newkirk sat there with a blank expression on his face. _Who the bloody hell are they talking about_ , he wondered.

"Tall man. Wore a red shirt and black pants. Black hair? Brown eyes?" Kinch prodded.

Newkirk went back into his thoughts and tried remembering hard. The only person he knew with black hair and brown eyes was Hogan. Suddenly, the form of another man came to him. He was very tall and slim. Had hardly any weight on him. He was strong built and had a friendly smile. Spoke with a very faint German accent and was wearing a long sleeved shirt that was bright red and jet black pants and boots. Was _that_ Rotes?

"I'm remembering someone," Newkirk said. "He's tall...very thin...strong built and has just barely of a German accent...black hair, brown eyes, bright red shirt…"

"That's Rotes, Newkirk," Kinch said softly.

"What about him?"

The radioman hesitated to continue, but managed to do so.

"You, the Colonel, and Rotes walked to a munitions site that night that was ordered to be sabotaged. The site was successfully damaged and crippled...but you and the Colonel returned here with serious injuries."

Newkirk looked at Kinch like he were speaking Russian.

"...how do you think you hurt your leg and hand, _mon ami_?" LeBeau asked cautiously. He made careful watch for a certain look in Newkirk's eyes to appear. He knew his friend was about to go into one of his mental breakdowns as soon as a certain twinkle in his eyes appeared.

The Englishman looked down at his right leg, raised his right hand to gently touch the scar on his forehead, then his left hand wrapped in gauze and casting, and again returned his attention to his friends.

"I don't know...I remember waking up in a hospital room with them...everything was so blurred together, I can hardly recall anything that happened." He answered.

"Newkirk...though the mission was successful...there was an accident that night," Kinch softly said.

"What do yah mean 'there was an accident'?" Newkirk questioned.

"Peter...the Colonel's not dying because of rheumatic fever...a huge chunk of shrapnel pierced a part of his heart from an explosion gone wrong with the bombs. Several more pieces sliced his belly open and tore several abdominal muscles...a highly trained cardiologist needs to perform a life saving open heart surgery on him, or he's going to die suffering from a fatal case of sudden cardiac arrest...your injuries were caused by the same explosion." The radioman tried being as gentle as he could be with breaking the news. He too, was watching for any sign of a breakdown about to occur.

There was not a single reaction from Newkirk. The Englishman sat there emotionless. He said nothing. He did nothing. It scared the hell out of the three men before him.

"...Newkirk...are you alright, buddy?" Carter asked, worried.

Nothing.

"Pierre?" LeBeau asked.

Newkirk slowly looked up at Kinch. His eyes were begging that what he was being told was just some sick joke. Understanding, Kinch slowly shook his head 'no'.

"I'm sorry, Newkirk...it's all true...Major Schneider is a Gestapo officer Hochstetter is working with on the investigation. _That's_ why he's interested in Colonel Hogan... _that's_ why we need to get rid of him."

"No...no…" Newkirk mouthed. He clenched his eyes shut and started shaking his head. The voices, the cries for help, the images...oh God, the images! "No, no, no!" He pleaded.

"Newkirk?" Carter asked, again.

The Englishman started screaming bloody murder, sweat dripping down his face, and grabbing his hair with his one good hand.

"GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR! HELP ME! SOMEONE! ANYBODY! GOV'NOR, DON'T DIE ON ME!"

Kinch snapped his head to LeBeau.

"Get Wilson... _NOW_ ," he ordered.

" _Oui, mon ami_ ," LeBeau said, anxious and hurried out of the room.

"Carter, try calming him down," Kinch begged.

"You betcha!" Carter cried. He hurried to Newkirk's side and sat down beside him. He took his hand and gently rubbed his best friend's back. "It's alright, Newkirk...it's alright, buddy. The Colonel's gonna be just fine. We've got a whole _bunch_ of people looking for a cardiologist right now as we speak. It's gonna be alright, Newkirk, don't be scared."

"GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR!" The corporal screeched.

Wilson hurried in carrying his medical bag with LeBeau bringing up the rear. The camp medic knelt down in front of Newkirk and put a gentle hand on his knee. LeBeau returned to Kinch's side and both watched in horror of what was happening to their beloved friend.

"Newkirk, what's wrong?" Wilson asked, his voice full of concern.

"GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR!" Newkirk continued to scream.

"He hasn't said anything else since he went into this," Kinch reported.

"What happened?" The camp medic asked.

"Dr. Klaussner told us that Newkirk needed to know what happened the night he and Colonel Hogan were hurt...he had two breakdowns at the hospital." LeBeau answered.

Wilson sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

"Oh boy," was all he said.

"What?" Carter quivered.

"I'm worried Newkirk could be suffering a psychotic breakdown." The camp medic answered tiredly.

"A psychotic breakdown. Isn't that the same thing as a mental breakdown?" Kinch asked, crossing his arms.

"Yes, but worse. Newkirk's brain isn't able to handle what's being told to him...his mind doesn't know how to protect itself, thus causing his rash emotional behavior."

"I don't want Newkirk to go catatonic! Don't let him go catatonic, Joe!" Carter yelped.

"Newkirk's not gonna become catatonic. We won't let it get that bad, just calm yourself," Wilson said, firm.

"Pierre, come back to us, _mon ami_. It's all over now, Pierre." LeBeau tried getting his friend to snap out of it.

The Englishman began to calm and gave labored breaths. He shuddered a few times, then lifted his head to see Kinch, LeBeau, and Wilson surrounding him. He then turned to his right and saw Carter rubbing his back and holding back his own anxiety. Newkirk again returned his attention to the center and looked into LeBeau and Kinch's eyes.

"Kinch," he croaked. " _Please_ tell me it ain't true...it's all my fault, Kinch."

"What's all your fault, Newkirk?" Kinch asked, worried.

"It was just an accident, buddy." Carter softly spoke.

"It _wasn't_ an accident, yah bloody bloke! _I_ killed him! _I_ killed the Gov'nor!" Newkirk hollered.

"Colonel Hogan's gonna be just fine." Kinch reassured.

" _Mon Colonel_ wouldn't want this, Pierre!" LeBeau pleaded.

"Colonel Hogan's gonna die, thanks to me! I already killed one man, and I _might_ just have killed the other one!" Newkirk snapped.

The Englishman stormed out of the room as fast as he could with his limp and slammed Hogan's door on the way out.

Carter turned to look at Kinch and LeBeau with shock in his eyes. The little Frenchman sat down besides him and rubbed his back.

"He's just angry, _mon ami_. He didn't mean any of it." LeBeau promised.

"He's _more_ than just angry," Wilson said, crossing his arms. "He's sick... _very_ sick."

"With what?" The young sergeant asked.

"Psychotic disorder. It is usually caused from another mental ailment, such as schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. In Newkirk's case, it was caused by witnessing something so mentally traumatizing that it temporarily left him unable to recall the event all together. I'm worried if he doesn't tell someone what happened that night, and soon...I'm afraid he will develop something much worse such as battle fatigue or schizophrenia," Wilson said.

"Can schizophrenia be caused by witnessing a traumatic event, Joe?" LeBeau asked, concerned.

"I'm afraid no one _knows_ what causes schizophrenia, LeBeau...it could be caused biologically, environmentally...no one knows for sure yet. Hopefully in time, doctors can determine the cause of it."

Carter shook his head, fighting back tears, and ran out of Hogan's room.

"Carter, wait!" Kinch called out, with sympathy.

The young sergeant was gone before another word could be said.

The staff sergeant sighed heavily and shook his head with sorrow.

"Poor kid...first the Colonel may die...now he might lose his best friend to something as bad as schizophrenia," he said sadly.

" _Oui_ ," LeBeau said. He turned to look at Wilson. "Can you do anything for him, Joe?"

"I am not a trained psychologist, Louis. I know so much on psychology and psychiatry. Your best bet is to have London fly over a psychologist." The camp medic answered, depressed.

"We've already got General Berkman going out of his mind trying to find a cardiologist to treat the Colonel...we can't bother him with finding a good psychologist, too...maybe someone in the underground knows someone," Kinch suggested.

"Joe...how long does Pierre have, do you think?" The little Frenchman asked.

Wilson gave a deep sigh.

"I can't answer that question, LeBeau. It depends how mentally strong Newkirk currently is...and that could be a far stretch of possibilities."

LeBeau nodded softly.

" _Oui, mon ami_ ," he said.

It was at that moment the door to Hogan's room slammed open. Baker ran in out of breath from running so quickly. The sergeant had to put his hands on his legs and take a breather to catch himself from collapsing.

"Richard, what is it?" Kinch asked, hurrying towards the man. LeBeau followed closely behind him.

"General Berkman...he's on the radio...says it's urgent," Baker said, getting back some air.

"Come on, Louis," Kinch ordered.

" _Oui_ , Kinch!"

The two of them hurried out of Hogan's room, leaving Wilson and Baker behind.

Kinch and LeBeau made their way to the fake bunk, jumped down into the tunnels, and rushed to the radio room below.

* * *

Carter ran out of the barracks and shut the door behind him. The young sergeant leaned against the door and was beginning to have difficulty fighting back the urge to cry. _Why_ , he thought. Why, out of _all_ people, why did Colonel Hogan and Newkirk have to be the ones in this situation. Why could it not have been him?

Newkirk was his best friend; someone he felt was like his big brother here. Sure, they had their quarrels, but what brothers didn't? When it came down to it, Newkirk and Carter were there for each other at a moment's notice. Always there to care for the other one and protect one another when push came to shove. When one was sick, kidnapped by the Gestapo, body-guarding the other, helping each other with one of Hogan's plans, both men were there in a minute, side by side, ready to assist one another in the task. Losing Newkirk would be like losing a part of him. He could not bare working with another person in the operation. Of course, Kinch and LeBeau would be there, but it was Newkirk that would affect him most. There had to be a way to save his best friend from schizophrenia...there just _had_ to be a way.

And then there was Hogan. Oh golly, his Colonel Hogan. The man who currently lay in a hospital bed fighting for his life. A man who would die if he could not get the open heart operation he needed to survive the extent of his injuries. Hogan was basically a father to Carter. The operation was _finished_ if Hogan was lost. He had been injured and sick before. Close to death a few times before, too. But this time was different. The American officer was slipping quickly and soon would be in death's grasp. The heart was one of the most vital organs to the human body. The young sergeant knew well that if enough destruction was done to it, it would not take long for death to find its way to that ailing person. Hogan had already suffered a major heart attack and almost crashed twice now. How much more could his heart take? If Hogan died...Carter did not even want to think of that possibility. He was not sure how he could work for the operation anymore if Hogan died. However, if _both_ Hogan and Newkirk were to be lost...Carter was sure that his _own_ life would end.

The young man stood there a little longer and swallowed a lump in his throat. A tear found its way down his cheek and burned his face. He wiped the rest that began to fall, but helped to a mere minimum. He then noticed something out of the corner of his right eye. Carter turned to find Newkirk standing there looking out into the compound and darkness blankly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

Carter swallowed a knot in his throat and hesitated to speak.

"...New...Newkirk?" He finally asked.

The Englishman turned to look at his best friend, hung his head, then returned to staring out into the night.

"Go away, Andrew," he said sadly.

The young sergeant was not easily fooled. He made his way closer and stopped standing beside him on the left.

"Newkirk...please tell me what's wrong...I wanna help you, buddy...we _all_ do."

"You _can't_ help me, mate...not _this_ time…" The Englishman fell silent and kicked the dirt up with his feet.

"Well...maybe if you talked about it?" Carter prodded.

Newkirk shook his head.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Andrew."

"But that's what's causing the problem, Newkirk. Come on, buddy, please don't shut me out. You would do the same for _me_."

"You don't understand, mate...you don't understand what I saw...what I _did_ that night."

"It's only gonna get worse, buddy. _Please_ , Newkirk...I don't _want_ you to get schizophrenia."

The Englishman turned to look at his best friend. The young sergeant's eyes were glistening with water in them. Newkirk smiled small and put a hand gently on Carter's shoulder.

"Don't worry, mate. I'm not gonna get schizophrenia...I just…" He sighed heavily. "I just need to be alone for a while, alright?"

Carter let out a sad breath of air and nodded. As he made his way back to barracks two, he turned to make one more check on Newkirk. The Englishman just stood there looking at nothing. Something was amiss in his eyes, his facial complexion. Newkirk looked more pale than usual, his eyes had lost their glimmer. Instead of a sparkling, bright green they once held, they were now a dim fog of gray. Light did not seem to enter them nor exit them. Newkirk looked sick. He _was_ sick.

The young sergeant sighed again, shook his head gently, then sulked his way into the barracks.

* * *

"Italy? You sure, General?" Kinch asked, anxious.

LeBeau stood beside his friend biting his fingers in anticipation. Had they struck luck finally?

" _Dr. Jacques Prudhomme; born and raised in Paris, France, graduated from UC-San Francisco Medical School with a degree in cardiothoracic surgery and cardiology, carried a 3.745 GPA all seven years of schooling, one of the top rated surgeons in all of France, and currently works for the cardiology section of Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital. As of now, he is working in a hospital in Naples, Italy treating wounded Italian soldiers and civilians_." Berkman replied, via the radio.

"How soon can you get him here to Germany?"

"More importantly, why is he in Italy helping the filthy bosche?" LeBeau questioned, disgusted that one of his own countrymen were serving under the enemy.

Ignoring him, Kinch went back to listening to the old American general.

" _Right now, we're trying to maintain contact with him. Known as a loyal Frenchman and Ally member. Also associated with the Italian underground it looks like. Once we do, we will have him flown to Germany first class and meet up with one of your underground contacts, Otto. He'll bring him to a meeting point you two establish_."

"How long do you think that will take, General? The Colonel's running out of time quickly. He suffered a major heart attack earlier tonight. On top of that, we got an assumed dangerous Gestapo major, Major Schneider, on our tails. One of the Colonel's eagles were found at the site the explosion took place a little over a week ago," Kinch reported.

The old general did not answer. For a moment, the two of Hogan's men thought that the line had disconnected.

"General Berkman, are you there?" Kinch finally asked, worried.

The old general was heard letting out a deep, saddened breath.

"Do not worry, _mon General_. Colonel Hogan will get better. Dr. Prudhomme will not disappoint us," LeBeau said, certain.

" _I wish I felt your optimism, Corporal...I can't shake these... **horrid** thoughts out of my mind_ ," Berkman said tiredly.

"The Colonel's gonna get better, General Berkman...your men will get in contact with Dr. Prudhomme, and he'll be here faster than you can say 'London'." Kinch tried encouraging the man. Berkman sounded like he was not taking Hogan's medical condition fairly easy.

"We will handle Major Schneider, too. You will see, General." The little Frenchman added.

" _...if you excuse me, I have some, uh...paperwork to do. Let me know if Otto contacts you_ ," Berkman said, monotone.

"Sure thing, General. Take it easy, sir. It's gonna work out." Kinch answered, with sympathy.

" _Yes, well...General Berkman out_."

Before Kinch could respond, the line went dead. The radioman heaved a sigh and shook his head. He turned to look at LeBeau, who had begun to frown.

"I don't think the General's got any paperwork needed to be attended to," Kinch said.

"Poor General Berkman...there must be _something_ we can do for him," LeBeau suggested.

"The only thing General Berkman wants is for the Colonel to get better again. _That_ , unfortunately, is out of our hands. Sure sounds like it's hitting him hard."

" _Oui_."

Carter climbed down the ladder and made his way to the radio room. He met his friends with the same saddened look on his face as theirs.

"You alright, Carter?" Kinch asked, concerned.

"I'm just numb is all," the young man softly said.

"You're not the only one."

"How's Pierre?" LeBeau asked.

"...quiet. I tried getting him to talk, but he just wanted to be by himself." The young sergeant answered.

"How do we get him to talk to us?"

"I don't know," Kinch said, starting to think. "Newkirk can be more tight mouthed than an oyster sometimes."

Carter nodded then realization hit him. What were his two friends down in the tunnels for?

"Wait a minute...why are you two here in the first place?" The young sergeant questioned, puzzled.

"General Berkman was just on the radio a little while ago. He says they found a doctor trained to help the Colonel in Italy. London's trying to make contact with him as we speak. A doctor from Paris named Prudhomme. He sounds promising," Kinch said.

"Hey! That's great!" Carter cried, smiling for the first time in a while.

"It _will_ be great if London manages to get a hold of him. He's currently treating wounded Italian civilians and soldiers in Naples."

"How long might that take?"

Kinch fell silent for a moment before answering.

"Unfortunately, _that's_ what makes the news bad; we don't know _how_ long it could take. The Colonel could succumb to his injuries before we even hear back from this guy."

Carter began to frown again.

"Well, _that's_ a downer," he said, depressed.

" _Tu peux répéter ça_ ," LeBeau said, in response.

"What's that mean, Louis?"

"You can say _that_ again."

Kinch was about to speak, when the radio came to life with beeping. The radioman snapped his attention and almost knocked over the stool trying to sit on it. Kinch put his headset on and started writing down the coded message quickly.

"Holy cats." Kinch gasped, with no expression.

"What is it, Kinch?" Carter asked, worried.

"Is it about _mon Colonel_?!" LeBeau cried.

Kinch waved them off trying to get the rest of the message. The transmission ended, and Kinch put down his headset. He stood and made his way to LeBeau and Carter with a small smile.

"It's from Prudhomme. Says ' _Urgent message received, short time to talk. Getting next flight from Rome to Germany, meeting with underground man named Otto,_ '!"

The three of them started cheering.

"The Colonel's gonna make it, guys!" Carter rejoiced.

" _Oui_! I need to start working on a 'Welcome Home' party!" LeBeau cried, with glee.

"Alright, guys. Settle down. We still need confirmation from Otto and make plans for a rendezvous," Kinch said, calming the group. It was hard, however, for him to do so. He was ecstatic about the news as much as his friends were.

"We have to let General Berkman know!" The little Frenchman cheered.

"Was thinking the same thing, Louis," Kinch said, with a wink. He got back on the radio and made contact with London. "Papa Bear to Mama Bear, Papa Bear to Mama Bear, over."

" _Mama Bear here, Papa Bear. What is it_?" A female's voice asked.

"Put me on with General Berkman. We have important information for him."

" _Hold for one moment, Papa Bear_." The line went silent for a minute or two, when an older man's voice was heard. It sounded tired and despondent.

" _General Berkman speaking_."

"General, it's Sergeant Kinchloe. I'm here with Corporal LeBeau and Sergeant Carter."

" _What is it, Sergeant? I've got many papers to go through_."

"We just got a message from Italy. It's from Prudhomme."

" _What did he say_?" The general seemed anxious, suddenly.

"Says that he's received word from London and is getting on the next flight from Rome to Germany and contacting Otto as we speak."

" _Is it true, Sergeant_?"

"It's true, General. Prudhomme's on his way here."

" _Well, ain't that something. I can't believe it...Robert's going to make it_ ," Berkman said. It sounded like he was smiling.

"He sure is, General. We just wanted to inform you, sir."

" _Thank you, Sergeant. Take care, you three. General Berkman out_."

"Papa Bear out."

Kinch ended contact and shut down the radio for the night. He turned back to LeBeau and Carter with a smile.

"Now what, Kinch?" The young sergeant asked, eager.

"Now," Kinch said. "We wait."

* * *

Prudhomme arrived in Germany two days later and met with Otto. The underground agent made contact with Kinch and planned a rendezvous with each other. Carter and LeBeau were assigned to go out and retrieve the doctor, while Newkirk and Kinch stayed behind and made sure everything at home was set and ready for the doctor.

The Englishman's leg and cut on his head had made a nice recovery, though his hand remained in a cast and treated regularly by Wilson. The camp medic told Kinch that his hand may permanently be scarred, but would not know for sure for a bit longer or until a more trained medic had a look at it. The radioman made plans for Prudhomme to check Newkirk's hand once during his visit.

Kinch and Newkirk sat in the radio room waiting for LeBeau and Carter to return with the French doctor. The staff sergeant sat on his stool, as he watched his British friend pace back and forth worried sick for their friends.

"Newkirk, you're gonna make yourself ill if you keep doing that," he said finally.

"I don't know why you didn't send me out with them. What if one of them are hurt?" The Englishman asked, ornery.

"You know very well why I didn't send you out, tonight. Wilson's strict orders are for you to remain in camp and mentally recover from…" Kinch was cut off.

"Don't bring it up, mate!" Newkirk hissed. His eyes burned with fury.

The radioman slid back in his spot and went back to reading his magazine. After reading the first paragraph of the page he was on, Kinch put down the magazine and looked at his friend with concern.

"Newkirk, what happened that's so bad for you to remember?"

Newkirk stopped and froze in his spot. He shuddered and never turned around to make contact with his friend.

"I don't want to talk about it, mate," he said softly.

"You'll feel better talking about it."

The Englishman shook his head.

"No...I won't."

Kinch was about to question his friend again, when footsteps were heard. Carter and LeBeau entered wearing their blacks with someone behind making their way behind them. All that was seen was a shadow of the figure. The radioman put his magazine down and made his way to his friends quickly.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Kinch, allow me to introduce Dr. Jacques Prudhomme. France's most renowned cardiac surgeon!" LeBeau presented proudly. He and Carter stepped to the side to reveal a man about in his late 30s'-early 40s' made his way into the radio room. He had brown hair, light blue eyes, and was wearing black shoes, black pants, and a white lab coat carrying a black medical bag with him.

"Doctor, it's a pleasure to meet you. Sergeant Kinchloe, but you can call me Kinch, sir," the leading sergeant said, shaking the man's hand.

"Pleasure is all mine, Kinch." Prudhomme answered, with a smile.

"This is our other member to the team, Corporal Newkirk," Kinch said, gesturing to the British man.

"'Evening, mate," Newkirk said, smiling small.

Prudhomme raised an eyebrow, spotting the English corporal's hand.

"What happened to your hand there?" The doctor questioned.

The Englishman swallowed a knot and suddenly froze. His eyes began to cloud over, and his skin began to pale. Newkirk's breathing started to become uneasy and fast.

"Newkirk?" Carter asked, worried.

After another minute of nothing, Newkirk began to scream and ran away to another tunnel.

"Newkirk!" The young sergeant cried.

Prudhomme snapped his head towards the three men remaining in the room.

"I thought you said my patient was in dire need of cardiac attention!" The man hissed.

"He _is_ , sir. Sorry about that. Corporal Newkirk's been...not taking this time so well," Kinch said softly.

The French doctor raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with him?" He asked, intrigued.

The three of Hogan's men fell silent for several minutes. Finally, it was LeBeau who answered their guest.

" _Pierre souffre de ce qui est connu comme un 'trouble psychotique'_."

Prudhomme shook his head and gave his fellow countryman a look of sympathy.

" _Cela est très mauvais_."

" _Oui_."

Carter leaned towards Kinch.

"What are they saying?" The young sergeant asked softly.

Hearing his curious friend, LeBeau turned around to face he and Kinch.

"I told him that Pierre has psychotic disorder, and he said that is very bad."

"We're on the lookout for a psychiatrist currently for him. We would have asked General Berkman, but the Colonel's current condition is taking quite a toll on him enough as it is," Kinch said, turning to the doctor.

"The _Colonel_ ," Prudhomme said, surprised.

"Colonel Robert Hogan, _mon ami_. _He's_ your ailing patient. He needs a very complex open heart surgery to repair near fatal injuries to it...we will lose _notre Colonel_ if you do not help him." The last part, LeBeau fought back on the tears that threatened to fall. Losing Hogan would shatter him. He refused to listen to any other commanding officer other than Hogan. No one could take his place no matter how hard London tried to find a new officer to take over Hogan's position.

Prudhomme raised an eyebrow.

"What's an American colonel doing in a Luft Stalag?" He asked, chary.

" _That, mon ami_ , is a long story for another time." LeBeau answered him.

The old doctor nodded.

"Fair enough," he said. Prudhomme turned his attention to Kinch. "You're the current man in charge?"

"Yes, sir," the radioman said.

"Where is my patient as of now?"

"At a hospital in a city outside of Hammelburg: Schweinfurt."

"That's a 30 minute drive from here, if I'm correct."

"Correct, Doctor."

"When do you want me to get there?"

"We first have to find a way for you to get into camp and present yourself to our Kommandant."

Prudhomme swallowed a sudden knot in his throat.

"You're gonna put me in front of some drug induced, psychotic Kraut?!" He gasped, astounded.

Hogan's men bursted into laughter.

"Kommandant _Klink_?! The only psychotic thing about him is that he fears his own shadow!" LeBeau cackled.

"A coward of a German." Prudhomme scoffed. "Now _that's_ something I have _yet_ to see."

"You'll see soon enough, Doctor." Kinch replied. The radioman snapped his fingers at that moment. An idea sprang onto him out of nowhere. "Hey... _that's_ how will get Prudhomme into camp."

"How, buddy?" Carter asked.

"We'll bring him in saying that Richard notified doctors in nearby areas in Germany and bordering countries. Dr. Prudhomme will have been the one to answer that call and is escorted by two men from the Luftwaffe to present himself to Klink and gain access to the Colonel."

"Hey! I like that idea!" The young sergeant cried.

"Me, too!" LeBeau cheered.

"Alright. I'll get on the radio, tell Otto and Richard what the plan is." Kinch put on his headset and began radioing the two underground contacts. While doing so, Newkirk appeared again, but looked worse than he had before. His eyes were fogged over, his skin had grown pale, and there was the beginning of dark circles forming around his eyes.

Carter, LeBeau, and Prudhomme noticed another man had entered the room and were taken aback after finally turning to face the Englishman.

"Newkirk...are you alright?" Carter asked, worried.

"Yeah, mate...I'm just... _tired_ is all...I think I'm going to sleep." With that, Newkirk left without another word.

The young sergeant was about to get up and go after him, when he decided against it. He did not know whether it would upset his best friend more than he already was or not.

Prudhomme shook his head and let out a heavy sigh.

"It's bad, isn't it, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau said, dreading what would be the doctor's response.

" _Worse_ than bad," Prudhomme said softly. "The man's _sick_."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:**

Around 4:30AM, barracks two was again wakened by Newkirk screaming out in his sleep. Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter immediately jumped out of their bunks and made their way to Newkirk. They all knelt down besides Newkirk's bed, and Kinch began shaking his friend gently.

"Newkirk...Newkirk... _Newkirk_! Wake up, it's just a nightmare!" The staff sergeant spoke, panic slightly in his voice.

"You think it's about the night he and the Colonel were hurt?" Carter asked.

"No, I think it's about the Germans losing the war," LeBeau said sardonically.

Kinch rolled his eyes and continued to try and wake up the Englishman.

"Come on, Newkirk...Newkirk, come on now. Wake up! You're gonna bring Schultz in here wanting to know what's going on!"

Newkirk's eyes snapped open and grabbed hold of the collar of Kinch's pajamas.

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME, YOU SICK HEADED KRAUT!" The Englishman barked.

"Pierre, it's _us_! Your friends, _mon ami_!" LeBeau pleaded.

"Snap out of it, buddy! We're your friends!" Carter begged.

Kinch grabbed hold of Newkirk's shoulders and began shaking him violently.

"Newkirk. Newkirk! You _gotta_ snap out of it," the radioman ordered.

Realization of what he was doing eventually seemed to hit him, and the corporal released his grip on Kinch's collar. He swallowed a knot and looked at his friend in total shock of what he had previously been doing.

"Kinch...mate, I didn't...I didn't mean to...I…" the radioman himself stopped him.

"It's alright, Newkirk. You didn't mean to do it."

Newkirk's hands and body started to shake. What was happening to him, he wondered. Why was he suddenly and slowly losing his mind. It scared the _hell_ out of him.

"Kinch...what's happening to me, mate?!" The Englishman croaked.

"Newkirk...Wilson thinks you have what's known as psychotic disorder."

"What the bloody hell does _that_ mean?!"

"It's a mental disorder...can be caused by illnesses like schizophrenia and sociopathy, or in your case, a traumatic event."

Newkirk's eyes gaped at his friend.

"Pierre, you _have_ to tell us what happened that night. It's only getting worse with you bottling it all up." LeBeau pleaded.

The Englishman shuddered and clenched his eyes shut to stop himself from crying. His efforts failed when several tears began to fall down his face.

"I _can't_ , Louis...don't make me go back there, _please_!" He begged, with mercy.

"We won't tell anybody, buddy, promise," Carter said, sincere.

"If you want, this will remain strictly confidential between the four of us," Kinch said softly.

Newkirk shook more then gave in. He sighed heavily and turned to look at his three friends. They all sat there with kind eyes and worried faces. They were concerned for him. _Scared_ for him. Newkirk looked to the far left at where Kinch was. His current commander of the operation. Kinch was always there, ready to help in the blink of an eye. His quiet and reserved self made reassurance that anything he or anyone else told him would remain just with him unless told otherwise. The leading sergeant always kept a calm, level headed grasp on situations no matter how dire they seemed.

When he moved his head to the center, he saw LeBeau. His little mate and feisty Frenchman. Always eager to help with whatever he could do. He may irritate the heck out of him at points with his weird French culinaries and random outbursts of French sentences, but he loved the little man like a brother. LeBeau was always there to comfort a friend in need during hard times. He too, was a loyal and honest man. LeBeau did not squeal on anybody unless absolutely mandatory or given permission by the person confiding in him.

Lastly, Newkirk turned to his right and saw Carter looking at him with sympathy. The young boy who was naive and kiddish a lot of the time, but Newkirk loved him as if he were his own little brother. Carter was genuine and had a heart of gold. If he said he would keep a secret, he would do so without a problem. He hated seeing how his declining health was affecting him. The pain that he was causing _all_ of them. It could be seen within their eyes. He had to tell them. If he kept what happened to himself that night any longer, there was no doubt in the world he would see himself admitted into a psychiatric ward or insane asylum. Hogan would want him to tell them had he been there with them. He would make sure that it stayed between the five of them. What he would not give to make sure that their commanding officer would survive and come back to them healthy and happy again.

"Alright," he quivered. "You blokes win."

"You'd prefer to go into the Colonel's room for this? Would give us more privacy," Kinch suggested.

"That would be satisfactory, mate."

The four of them got to their feet and made their way to Hogan's room.

Newkirk sat down on Hogan's bottom bunk, Kinch flicked on the light switch then made his way to the window, Carter sat down beside Newkirk, and LeBeau sat in Hogan's desk chair. The three of them sat patiently as they waited for Newkirk to collect himself.

The Englishman turned to Carter and gently patted his shoulder, then he turned to the front of him and heaved another sigh. The young sergeant wrapped an arm around him in attempt to make him feel any better. He managed to get just barely a smile on his face.

"Whenever you're ready, Newkirk," Kinch said calmly.

Newkirk nodded gently, took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

"Alright, mates. This is what happened the night the Gov'nor and I were hurt." He took in another breath and continued. "It started after I had just set the bombs to go off."

* * *

( _Newkirk's memory_ )

The Englishman had just finished setting the bombs to go off in 150 minutes, unknown to any of the three men that it was actually 15 minutes they had instead. Newkirk casually made his way back to Hogan and grinning from ear to ear. His task had been a cinch. He was actually wondering to himself why he had been worried in the first place. Kinch had been right; the assignment had been easier than stealing candy from a child.

Hogan turned to him after checking again for any unwanted visitors.

"Got 'em all set, Newkirk?" He asked softly.

"All ready to go, sir. Those bombs will be making noises clear to Berlin in no time." Newkirk answered, with confidence.

Hogan chuckled.

"Let's not get _too_ cocky yet. We still need to manage to get back to Stalag 13 undetected."

"Won't be a problem whatsoever."

Rotes made his way to Hogan and looked at the Englishman totally stunned at what he had just witnessed.

"How did you manage to set those bombs so quickly?" The underground agent gasped.

Newkirk laughed.

"Let's just say I have a good friend who knows his explosives better than his own name," he said, grinning.

"Alright, you two. Less chit-chat and more walking. If we leave now, we'll be back at Stalag 13 by 0230 hours," Hogan said softly.

"Right, Gov."

"Right behind yah, Papa."

The three men began making their trek back to the rendezvous point, when they all heard a sudden beeping. Hogan, Newkirk, and Rotes all turned around and looked back to where the bombs were located. The American turned to Newkirk in between a state of suspicion and perplexity.

"I thought you said you set the bombs to 150 minutes," he said, to the Englishman.

"I thought I _did_ , sir." Newkirk answered back, puzzled.

Rotes left Hogan's right side and walked back towards the beeping. The young underground member knelt down to check the timers and saw it had been set to 15 minutes instead of 150! He was rising to his feet and ready to bolt back towards Hogan and Newkirk to warn them to run, when the timers reached zero and a massive explosion took place. Bomb after bomb after bomb went off and caused a great picture of fireworks that lit up the dark night sky.

* * *

Next thing Newkirk realized, he was waking up with a great pain on the left side of his head, his leg was burning, and his left hand was almost unbearable. He fluttered his eyes open and found himself laying on top of a rock. He sat up very slowly, feeling a wave of nausea hit him. The Englishman felt a wet substance streaming down the left side of his face coming from the top of his forehead. He attempted to try and touch it, but the movement of his left hand almost caused him to squeal. Wanting to know what was causing so much pain, Newkirk looked down at his left hand and gasped at the site.

It was burned... _badly_ burned. Completely red, swelling, and burning flesh was visible. It had to be a major first degree burn or a minor second degree burn. Either way, it needed immediate medical attention.

He groaned, then looked at his legs to see why the right one hurt so bad. There was a ripped hole in his right pant leg exposing a tremendous cut and blood oozing from it. A huge piece of shrapnel had to have caused that much damage.

It took all of Newkirk's energy and strength to get to his feet again. Instantaneously, he began limping on his right leg. He looked around and saw nothing and no one. He turned to his right and saw the munitions site was completely engulfed with flames and thick black smoke resonated from the burning building. It would be a miracle if any German soldiers were rescued. It would be a miracle just to find a man _alive_ from the remains.

Coming out of his thoughts, Newkirk resumed his search. Where was Rotes? Where was Hogan? Had they managed to escape the explosion? Neither of them were in sight range for him.

"Gov'nor," Newkirk said softly.

Nothing.

"Gov'nor, are yah there, sir?"

Again came nothing.

"Colonel Hogan, are yah there? Answer me, Gov'nor!" He pleaded.

After the third attempt failed, Newkirk now began feeling fear engulf his body.

"Oh, this _can't_ be good." He mumbled, to himself.

Newkirk began walking as fast as he could on his injured leg, being careful of his severely burned hand, when he tripped and nearly fell on something.

"Blimey...what the bloody hell was…" Newkirk's eyes stopped on what was before him. He felt as if his heart had stopped beating, and his lungs had ceased from breathing. What he saw was almost immortal to him. There in front him was what remained of Rotes. Several of his limbs had been blown off and scattered around the surrounding area around them.

"Gov, Gov, Gov, Gov'nor…" Newkirk tried to scream, but not a single noise came out of him. He made a run from where he was and was about to make a run back for camp, when he heard a whimper nearby him. He snapped his head towards the noise and saw a pair of legs and whatever else was there hidden behind a thick tree trunk.

"Gov'nor!" Newkirk yelped softly. He hurried towards him, fearing the worst, and finally reached his commanding officer. He knelt down carefully besides Hogan and grabbed him by the shoulder gently with his good hand.

Hogan's left was clutching his belly, which blood was seeping through his shirt and staining it. There was also a huge open wound in his chest, and his breathing was very uneasy and labored. He sounded like he was fighting back from screaming out in pain. His face was covered in sweat and some parts with dirt. His abdomen rose and fell rapidly, and Hogan whimpered and moaned softly.

"Just take it easy, Gov'nor. I'll get yah back to camp in no time. Just hold on a little longer, sir." Newkirk pleaded.

Hogan tried to calm his breathing, but made little improvement. He never opened his eyes to look at his English corporal with what consciousness was left of him.

"Newkirk…" he croaked. "Run...get...outta here."

"No way, sir! I'm not leaving you here to die!"

"It's...too late...Newkirk." Hogan gasped and gritted his teeth. He began breathing harder and faster than before. He took in a huge sharp breath, then the colonel fell silent, and his body relaxed.

"Gov'nor...Gov'nor...come on, Gov'nor! Don't die on me, Colonel! Hold on, sir, _please_! Stay with me, Colonel!" Newkirk begged.

He checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one. It was soft, faint, near silent.

"I've gotta get him back to camp," he said softly.

Using all his effort manageable, Newkirk somehow managed to pick up Hogan and stand up again. His legs were wobbly, and his vision was becoming blurry. No, he thought. He was _not_ going to pass out now. Hogan needed emergency medical help, and he would not fail his commanding officer. Not after everything he had done for him. He owed Hogan his life after all the things he's done. All the people he's helped. All the things he did everyday to make sure he and his team were protected, treated well, and stayed healthy as can be. He helped Newkirk more than enough times getting out of a horrid situation, and he would get Hogan out of this one.

As fast as he could, he bolted from where they were and did not stop until he reached Stalag 13 again.

On the run back, Newkirk looked down at Hogan to see if any sign of regaining consciousness was visible. His commanding officer remained silent and still.

"Hold on, Gov'nor," he begged softly. "Just hold on a little longer."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for not posting chapters in the past couple of days. I have been very busy with work and on a reading kick. I also learned I need wisdom teeth surgery! (Blech!) To make up for it, I'm posting two chapters today instead of one! Hope you guys enjoy and keep up with the reviews! :D

* * *

 **Chapter 14:**

( _Back to reality_ )

Newkirk was using all he had to stop himself from breaking down and crying. He would not surrender to his fear. He had to stay strong and with it. Carter, Kinch, and LeBeau needed him in this difficult time they all currently suffered from. Hogan could die. Even with his operation under the most renowned surgeon in all of France, he still had a good chance of never making it off the operating table. There was a chance that they would lose Hogan and have to begin making plans for a new commanding officer to take over. Something they all _dreaded_ of ever happening, but they always knew it had been a dark, dreary possibility to happen. This was war, after all.

The Englishman swallowed hard and clenched his eyes shut. Carter, feeling Newkirk's discomfort, started gently rubbing his back.

"I should've gone back and checked again...it's all my fault...the Colonel's gonna die, and it's all my fault." He shuddered. Hard as he may, tears still fell down his cheeks.

"It's not your fault, buddy. It was a mistake. You didn't know," Carter said, comforting.

"Prudhomme will not fail us, _mon ami_!" LeBeau added.

"General Berkman promised this guy was the best of the best. Near close to some of the top cardiac surgeons back in the States," Kinch said softly.

"He's gone...I killed him...oh Lord, I killed him, Kinch! I killed an innocent bloke! An Ally to us!" Newkirk cried.

"Rotes's death was an accident, Newkirk. You didn't purposely try to kill him. It was a horrible, awful accident." Kinch tried to soothe.

Newkirk shivered and shook his head.

"Oh, Gov'nor...what would you say to me right now?...What would you _think_ of me, Colonel?" He quivered.

Carter continued to rub Newkirk's back. He had no words to comfort his best friend. Maybe there just were not any words to say. Deciding that was the best route to go for now, the young sergeant just remained silent and let his best friend vent for now. He would leave the talking for Kinch and LeBeau to do. They were better at it, anyways.

"Colonel Hogan would understand, Pierre. He would not be angry with you. He would not want to see you so broken, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau said sadly. The little Frenchman _himself_ did not want to see his friend so sad. Knowing how much Hogan cared for all of them, it would shatter the colonel's heart seeing what was happening to Newkirk. What this nightmare was causing him: grief, pain, shock, terror, mental disruption...Hogan would be devastated. In fact, had he been there right now, he would think that Newkirk's pain was all his fault somehow. LeBeau, Kinch, and Carter would try everything they could to avoid having their commanding officer feel such remorse. The American officer needed to focus on getting better and growing healthy again; not on something that was truly just a horrible accident.

"The Colonel would want you to know it's not your fault, Newkirk. He would tell you what we're telling you now," Kinch said.

"He wouldn't be upset with you, buddy. He'd understand." Carter chimed in.

"But...Rotes," Kinch cut the Englishman off.

"His death was not your fault. Don't go there, Newkirk. It'll only make what your going through worse. Your mind is never going to heal if you keep telling yourself it's your fault for what happened that night."

"He's right, Pierre. Dreading over it will only make you worse. We don't want to see that happen to you." LeBeau added.

"I don't wanna see you get schizophrenia, Newkirk...by what Wilson's told us about it, it sounds horrible. I don't want you to suffer from that." Carter softly spoke.

"You can get schizophrenia from this kinda thing? Thought it was just a disease that developed over time." Newkirk answered.

"No one knows what causes it, Newkirk. Hopefully we will one day," Kinch said, crossing his arms.

Newkirk looked at the radioman and taking in all his friends were telling him. He was about to answer, when the door to Hogan's room opened. Schultz made his way in and stared at the four of them.

" _Was ist los_?" He asked, confused.

"Oh, hi yah, Schultz," Kinch said, with a soft smile.

"Why are all of you in here?" Schultz asked, pointing to the room he was just barely in.

"Newkirk had a nightmare, and we were trying to calm him down."

"About what?"

"I'd _really_ prefer not to speak about it again, Schultzie," Newkirk said, 100% honest with his statement.

The big, fluffy guard nodded softly.

"Roll call is in 20 minutes," he said.

"We'll be there. Thanks, Schultzie," Kinch said back.

Schultz left without another word.

The staff sergeant sighed and got to his feet.

"Well...shall we?" He asked, gesturing towards the open door.

"I suppose." LeBeau grumbled.

"Let's get this over with, mates." Newkirk replied, and got to his feet.

The four men left Hogan's room and gently closed the door behind them. They made their way to their bunks and began to get dressed for the day ahead of them.

* * *

"General Burkhalter will be here in three days, and I want all men to be on their _best_ behavior!" Klink continued. "If one of you fails to do so, that individual will suffer dire consequences and will beg for mercy. Any questions?"

All the men before the Kommandant did nothing but nod or continue to stand there and shiver in the morning air. Being fall, it was not unbearable, but it was torture enough.

"Kommandant," Carter spoke, from the back. "Why is General Burkhalter coming, sir?"

" _That_ , Sergeant Carter, is top confidential information. It is strictly no prisoner's business!"

"Does it involve us, Kommandant?" Kinch asked innocently.

Klink snapped his attention to the current Senior POW.

"That's enough questions!" He bellowed. He was just about to dismiss them, when a car pulled into camp. Gestapo flags sat in front and flapped in the slight breeze. Seeing he had company, Klink gulped: Hochstetter and Schneider were back with more questions.

Newkirk's face drained of color, and his eyes began to glass over. He swallowed a huge knot in his throat.

LeBeau turned to look at the Englishman and paled.

"Pierre," he said, worried. "Are you alright?"

Newkirk gave no answer. He just stared ahead.

Kinch left his spot with Carter following and headed towards the Frenchman quickly.

"What's wrong?" He asked softly.

LeBeau swallowed.

"He's got that look in his eyes." The little Frenchman answered meekly.

"Oh no. That means…" Kinch cut Carter off.

"He's gonna snap and have another breakdown...in front of Hochstetter and Schneider!"

Newkirk unexpectedly began screaming bloody murder. It startled the three of his friends, the rest of the prisoners, Schultz, and Klink. "GOV'NOR!" He screeched.

"What's going on," Klink ordered. "Don't you see that the Gestapo is here?! What's the matter with him?!"

"GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR! HELP ME, COLONEL! I DON'T WANNA GO TO JAIL! GOV'NOR!" The Englishman hollered.

Kinch grabbed Newkirk's shoulders firmly and started shaking him.

"Snap out of it, Newkirk! Not in front of Hochstetter and Schneider!"

"GOV'NOR! KILL THEM! KILL THEM! BLOODY DEMONS, KILL THEM!"

Forced to do so, Kinch and Carter covered Newkirk's mouth with the sleeves of their jackets.

"All prisoners dismissed!" Klink barked, then turned to Hogan's men. "And get that man under control!"

"Yes, sir," Kinch said.

All prisoners had gone their separate ways, Hogan's men had gone inside to try and calm down Newkirk.

Seeing all his prisoners were on their own and not causing any problems, Klink hesitantly made his way towards the two men standing in front of his office. He saluted the two of them and received the same thing.

"Major Hochstetter, Major Schneider, welcome back to Stalag 13." The old German quivered.

"What was that commotion, Kommandant? I could hear screaming clear to here." Schneider wondered suspiciously.

Klink forced a laugh.

"Nothing to worry about, Major. One of our prisoners just has a bad phobia of the Gestapo is all. Bad interrogation before coming here."

Schneider gave a sinister smile. He seemed to be proud of this. His eyes burned with flame and seemed to consume life in them. He almost looked inhuman. Someone like Count Dracula or some horrific character Klink had read about in books. He sometimes questioned whether _anybody_ in the Gestapo was human. He chuckled with fear then turned to Hochstetter.

"What is it you want, Major Hochstetter?" The old colonel coward.

"I'd prefer to speak of it in your office, Klink," Hochstetter said coldly.

"Yes, Major. Right away, sir." Klink hurried to the door and was followed into his office by the two Gestapo officers.

* * *

After miraculously calming Newkirk, the four of Hogan's men listened in on the three Germans in Klink's office.

Kinch lifted his head and looked to Carter.

"Have the men Otto recruited arrive yet?"

"You betcha, boy! Waiting in the tunnels right now with Prudhomme."

"Alright. LeBeau, tell them to get dressed into their uniforms and start the plan. You got the car ready?"

" _Oui, mon ami_. It's parked not too far from the emergency tunnel." The little Frenchman answered.

Kinch nodded.

"Good," he said.

LeBeau hurried out of Hogan's room and left his friends to listen to Klink, Hochstetter, and Schneider.

"What can I do, mate?" Newkirk asked, eager.

The radioman snapped his attention at his friend and gave him a firm look.

"Sit there and try not to have another breakdown," he ordered, pointing to Hogan's bottom bunk.

The Englishman glared at him for a moment, then sighed and complied with orders. He made his way over to the thin mattress and sat down.

Carter looked at Newkirk for a moment, reassuring himself that his friend was settled, then he made his way back to Kinch.

"You think this'll work, Kinch?" He asked, anxious.

"It better, Andrew. The Colonel's life depends on it," he said seriously.

The young sergeant nodded softly and went back to listening in on Klink and his guests.

* * *

"Klink, it has come to my attention by Major Hochstetter here that your Colonel Hogan is one of the most wanted men in all of Germany," Schneider said, pacing the room. Hochstetter stood in front of Klink's desk beside his partner.

Klink laughed.

"Colonel Hogan is...he's…" Klink swallowed. "Almost harmless."

Hochstetter scoffed.

"Hogan's as harmless as a badger." The short Gestapo officer hissed.

Klink shivered in his chair.

"Absolutely right, Major," he said meekly.

"Klink, I wish to know more about your Colonel Hogan," Schneider said casually. The Gestapo officer stopped pacing and turned to look at the withering kommandant. "How long has Colonel Hogan lived here now?"

The old German swallowed hard and forced his answer out.

"About two years now, Major Schneider."

"Hmmmmmm." Schneider took his fingers and rubbed his chin gently. "Two years you say...enough time for him to establish a secret works in this camp."

Klink chuckled innocently, trying to fight back terror in his facial features and voice.

"I can assure you, Major, that this camp is fully escape proof. If there was an escape, one of my guards would have reported it immediately."

"That's what you claim to be true, Klink, but is it _actually_ true?" Hochstetter asked coolly.

Klink swallowed hard. He was about to answer, when Schultz entered the room and saluted his commanding officer.

" _Dummkopf_! What are you doing in here?!" Klink thundered.

" _Herr Kommandant_ , there are two men from the Luftwaffe here with a strange man. One is a gen-ner-ral," Schultz said, emphasizing the word 'general'.

Klink turned to look at the two Gestapo men, chuckled, then back at the big sergeant before him.

"Bring them in, Schultz," Klink ordered softly.

" _Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_." Schultz saluted his commanding officer and soon enough, two underground men dressed as Luftwaffe officers, one a general and the other a captain, entered with a man in front of them. He was about 30-40 years old, dressed in a white lab coat, had brown hair, light blue eyes, and some faint wrinkles in his face. Was he a doctor, Klink thought to himself.

"Gentlemen, how may I assist you. Always a pleasure to do a job with the Luftwaffe _and_ the Gestapo!" The Kommandant greeted, smiling goony.

The man dressed as a general answered for all three of them. He was tall, thin, had dark brown hair, brown eyes, and had a bushy mustache.

"You are Kommandant Klink, no?"

"Yes, yes, that's me, sir." Klink rose to his feet, made his way over to the general, and stuck out his hand for a shake. Seeing the man merely looking at the hand unamused, Klink brought his hand back and wiped it on his uniform like he had just spilled something on it. "How can I help you?"

"I am General von Lichtenstein from Luftwaffe Headquarters in France." The underground man, Hans, spoke, in perfect German accent. The other man with him stood next to Prudhomme and did not speak unless directed to do so or felt the need to budge in.

"Luftwaffe Headquarters in France?" Klink gasped.

" _Paris_ , France, to be more specific." Hans cocked his head slightly to left.

" _Herr General_...what makes you travel all the way here to our little stalag? Surely there are many things to attend to back in France."

"There _are_ , Kommandant, but we received word here in Germany from a Dr. Richard Klaussner."

Klink's eyes bulged from his eyes. Had the old doctor had luck in finding a surgeon for Hogan? Was that the man before him in the white lab coat?

"Dr. Klaussner?" He asked, astounded.

"You know him."

"He's currently treating one of my prisoners for soon-to-be heart failure. Uh, Colonel Hogan, sir."

"We were told he is urgent need of intense cardiac surgery or else predicted to die."

"Yes, _Herr General_. You were told correctly."

"We have located and brought you a highly regarded cardiac surgeon in Paris. Dr. Prudhomme is known well across western Europe for his skill and survival rates in patients with cardiac ailments and injuries."

Klink looked at Prudhomme. The French doctor was staring at him with a raised eyebrow and intrigued look. He was stunned to see what Kinch had told him had been true. Klink was a bumbling moron who nearly cracked under pressure to make himself look good.

"You are Dr. Prudhomme, I presume?" Klink trembled.

"The only one," he said, with a silent smack of his lips. His voice was husky and sounded country like. (1)

Schneider and Hochstetter looked at the two Luftwaffe men, the French doctor, then to Klink again.

"You are claimed to be one of the best known cardiac surgeons in all of Europe. What's your background?" Klink asked, now intrigued with the man. He would make certain that this man was qualified to treating his ailing Senior POW...his _friend_.

Prudhomme shuffled a little and readjusted himself. This man was still a German, after all. It could just be all an act for all he knew. He assumed that was more than unlikely, but he had to make every precaution possible.

"Well, I attended med school in the United States for starters. Graduated from UC-San Francisco with a 3.745 GPA, one of the top 5% of my graduating class."

"Top 5%?" Klink gasped.

Prudhomme nodded.

" _Oui_. Got me a degree in cardiothoracic surgery and cardiology. I'm currently assigned to treating wounded soldiers and civilians in a unit back in Italy. General von Lichtenstein had two of his men assigned in my area notify me with this news and naturally being a loyal Ally to the Americans, I turned over my duties to my second in command and flew here to Germany. _Doit rester fidèle à mon pays_." (2)

Klink nodded.

"Uh huh," he said, crossing his arms. "Very well then. Sergeant Schultz will escort you to my guest quarters, and we shall travel to the hospital later tonight and can then examine Colonel Hogan for yourself."

"I shall wait your retrieval." Prudhomme answered.

"Disssmiisssed," Klink said, saluting the three men.

Prudhomme, Hans, and the other man saluted back then left Klink's office, closing the door behind them.

Klink returned to his desk and attention to the two Gestapo officers before him.

"Now, Major Schneider, where were we?" He asked, smiling.

"Wipe that grin off your face!" Schneider hissed.

"Yes, sir." Klink quivered, going back to reality. Prudhomme had been a delightful distraction from his original guests. He had to think of something to protect Hogan from these men, but what? What could he do that would be effective yet keep him undercover and hidden from exposure?

"How well behaved is Hogan?" Schneider questioned.

"Behaved?" Klink whimpered.

"Yes, Klink! Is he well behaved or not?!"

"Well...Hogan can be a bit... _disruptive_ at times, but I wouldn't say he's badly behaved. All prisoners have their moments, I'm sure you can understand, Major."

"No...I _don't_ understand, Klink."

The old German shuddered under the man's stare. Something about this Gestapo officer just sent chills down his spine. Just simply _thinking_ of him was enough to cause nightmares for Klink.

"Would you care for a diagram?" The Kommandant shivered.

"Diagrams do not catch criminals, Klink! Does the man cause mischief around here or not?!" Schneider barked, slamming his fist down hard on Klink's desk. It sent him almost flying out of his chair.

"A little, Major…" By now, Klink was in full blown panic. What he would not give for Hogan or General Burkhalter, at that, to be there with him at the moment. They would be able to take the attention off of him and, hopefully, resolve the issue at hand. Sadly, Hogan lay in a hospital bed dying, and Burkhalter would not arrive for another three days.

Schneider gave an eerie grin and stood back up straight.

"Now you are seeing it _my_ way, Klink," he said, cold.

"Major Schneider...begging your pardon, sir...wha, what happens if Hogan...is found guilty?" The old German colonel trembled.

"If your precious Colonel Hogan is found guilty, Klink," Schneider paused, snapped a gun in his hand, and held it like he was about to shoot Klink himself. "I'll kill him."

* * *

(1) I picture Dr. Prudhomme to look and sound like the famous and beloved Dr. McCoy (DeForest Kelley) from _'Star Trek'_.

(2) _Doit rester fidèle à mon pays - "_ Must remain faithful to my country."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** This is it, folks! The chapter some of y'all have been dying to read: will Hogan live or die? Find out in this chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter 15:**

Klink drove Kinch, Carter, and Prudhomme to the hospital that night. Newkirk and LeBeau stayed behind to start planning how to get rid of Schneider and prove Hogan was innocent. Once at their destination, the four men took an elevator up to the fifth floor, and Klink was escorted to a waiting room near the check-in desk.

Klaussner took Prudhomme, Kinch, and Carter to Hogan's room and let the two of Hogan's men go in first before Prudhomme began his examination. Their commanding officer was deep under the effects of heavy sedatives and was as conscious as a person in a coma. The old doctor had informed them that while they were gone, Hogan had suffered another heart scare due to stress regarding his men. He had been put under to protect his mind and body from further stress. Klaussner was not even sure if Hogan would notice anyone there at all.

"Hey, Colonel. Just Carter and I tonight. Newkirk and LeBeau are back at camp holding down the fort," Kinch said, smiling small.

"We got you a doctor, Colonel. He's gonna take good care of you, sir, I promise. General Berkman promised only the best for you...please get better, Colonel...I don't want you to," Carter stopped and fought back from breaking down.

Kinch wrapped an arm around the young sergeant and comforted him. Carter wiped the few tears on his cheeks away and looked into his friend's eyes. They were filled with compassion and warmth. They almost reminded the technical sergeant of Hogan's eyes when comforting him. He wished Hogan was there now to comfort him through this, but Kinch was better than nothing.

"Don't worry, Carter. Dr. Prudhomme's gonna do everything he can for Colonel Hogan. We'll be seeing his smile and hearing his laugh again in no time," Kinch said, with wink.

The young sergeant smiled and nodded. Thank God he had Kinch. He always seemed to know the right words to say to calm him whenever a bad situation involving Hogan occurred: the time he had his appendix removed, suffered a severe case of viral pneumonia, was shot by his late sociopathic commanding officer and slipped into a coma, Kinch had been there to tell him it would be alright in the end and what Hogan would want him to do in that situation. (1)

The door to the American colonel's room opened and entered both doctors.

Kinch and Carter stepped out of Prudhomme's way, stood by Klaussner, and let the cardiac expert do his examination.

The French doctor sat down gently beside Hogan and looked at him for a moment. His patient's color was extremely pale for his liking. Deep dark circles surrounded his eyes, and his eyelids were pure black. Hogan's black hair was almost enough to convince Prudhomme that what was before him was nothing but a corpse.

He pulled out his stethoscope from his black medical bag and began listening to Hogan's belly, then slowly moved up towards his heart. He nodded gently, put away his stethoscope, and sighed heavily. He turned to his three new friends with a grim look on his face.

"This man's near death," he said sadly.

"Does...does that mean that…" the French doctor cut off Carter.

"I can perform the surgery he needs to survive, but his chances of making it off that operating table are worrisome. There's fluid around his heart that needs to be drained out, blood that needs to be given to it, a severe wound that needs to be closed up, and he may require a bypass from the possibility of scar tissue in one of his blood veins."

"We've been giving him several blood transfusions with the blood Sergeant Carter here so kindly offered us." Klaussner turned to look at the two of Hogan's men with his arms crossed. "We will need you to give another pint of blood for the operation."

"Aw gee," Carter moaned.

Kinch smirked and patted the young man's shoulder.

"Just remember who your blood's going to. Who you're saving because of it," he said.

Carter smiled back and nodded.

"For Colonel Hogan, _anything_!" He replied, proud of his commanding officer.

"What's his blood type?" Prudhomme asked, curious.

"A rare one, Doctor. I don't know how familiar you are with A- blood?" Klaussner remarked.

The French doctor whistled and turned to look at Carter.

" _Très rare, **en effet**. Comment chanceux votre colonel est de vous avoir_ ," he said, with a gentle smile. (2)

Carter simply smiled back. He had no idea what the man had just said, but it sounded nice.

Klaussner smiled at the young sergeant, then returned his attention to his fellow medic.

" _Quand souhaitez-vous pour effectuer l'opération, Docteur_?" The old man asked.

"You know French, Richard?" Kinch asked, stunned.

" _Oui, mon ami_. I asked him 'when he would like to start the operation'." He returned his attention to Prudhomme.

The Frenchman looked at him very seriously.

" _Maintenant_ ," he said, with slight aggression.

Carter turned to look at Klaussner.

"What did he say?" He asked, confused.

The old doctor turned to both of Hogan's men, then back at Prudhomme.

"Now."

* * *

Carter was immediately escorted by Klaussner to another room with Kinch for the young sergeant to give his blood, and Hogan was rushed downstairs to the fourth floor to the operating room. Prudhomme and several other surgeons were waiting there to prep the colonel for immediate surgery. Once Carter was done, Klaussner told Kinch and the young sergeant where the operating waiting room was downstairs and hurried off to join the French doctor perform the operation.

Klink, Kinch, and Carter sat anxiously in the waiting room for more than five hours. Klink checked his watch every five minutes and before he knew it, it was almost midnight. Every now and then, he would rise from his chair, pace the room, sit back down, fidget a little, then repeat the same thing over again.

Kinch sat next to Carter on a soft couch in the room. It was velvet and a dark red color that stood out from the rest of the room, having all the chairs and walls being a different variety of blues from top to bottom. A nice change from the wooden benches back at camp. The radioman rubbed the young man's back gently, seeing how worried his friend was for their commander. Hogan was basically Carter's father. The young sergeant went to him for advice, always tried to make him proud and know how loved he was, and to give him a chuckle now and again. Carter knew sometimes he was not appreciative of some of his ideas or wild stories, but Hogan loved him to pieces because of it. He loved each one of his friends, his team members for their own unique qualities. It made accomplishing assignments easier, and it brought him a wide variety of friendships he would not trade for all the German marks in Germany.

"Don't worry, Carter. The Colonel's gonna be just fine," Kinch said, soothing.

Carter's color was slightly off. More than likely from giving the pint of blood earlier. He had been woozy the first time around, and felt even worse this time around. Klaussner had told Kinch some people were more sensitive to it than others were. It made sense to him, since all the times he gave blood, he got up and felt perfectly fine still.

The young sergeant nodded.

"I know, Kinch...I just...it's just that…" Kinch cut his friend off.

"I know. You just care a lot about him is all. We _all_ do. Colonel Hogan's the best man anyone could ever be."

Carter smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. He was still awful lightheaded. He wondered if there was a trick to not feeling like this after giving blood.

"Boy, am I sure woozy. You think after the first time I'd be used to it by now," he said, putting a hand to his head.

"You want something to eat?" Kinch asked.

Carter shook his head slowly, making all attempts to not feel so dizzy.

"No, I'm not hungry. I'm too worried to eat anyways."

"What about a glass of water?"

"Maybe later...I just wanna know how it's going in there. No one's come to get us in hours."

"Klaussner and Prudhomme are taking their time. They wanna make sure that the Colonel's 100% before coming to get us. He's in good hands, Andrew. They'll do all they can for him."

Carter sighed softly and propped his head up with his fists, his elbows resting on his legs.

"What's taking so long? How long does it take to repair an injury to the heart?" Klink groaned, pacing again.

"Heart surgeries are some of the most complex things known to medicine, Kommandant." Kinch answered. He did not know much about the field of medicine, but he had read quite a bit of medical journals in his past. "Heart surgeries can take as long as up to ten hours."

" _Ten hours_!"

"Don't worry. It won't take that long."

Klink moaned, throwing his arms in the air, and resumed pacing again faster than before.

After another few minutes of sitting there, the three of them lost in their thoughts, Prudhomme came out wearing a scrubs uniform with blood stained on the front, a surgical mask tied around his neck, and looked drained of all energy.

All three turned to him and looked at the French doctor with pleading eyes.

"Dr. Prudhomme, how is he?" Klink quivered.

"Is the Colonel alright?" Carter asked frantically.

Prudhomme heavily sighed.

"Colonel Hogan required a tremendous amount of blood transfusions during the operation...at one point, he crashed. It was so sudden and so severe, we thought we were going to lose him."

"Is he alright?!" Carter cried, fighting back his emotions. Kinch looked over at him, gently rubbed his back again, then he returned his attention to the Frenchman.

"Regarding those two factors, your Colonel is expected to make a full recovery. If all goes well, he'll be able to return to Stalag 13 in about a week. He's awake and in the recovery room down the hall if you wish to see him." Prudhomme had a small smile on his tired looking face.

Carter's face brightened hearing the news. Hogan would make it! He would be coming home soon.

"Come on, Kinch!" The young sergeant cheered. He shot to his feet and regretted it instantly. Carter almost collapsed to the ground had it not been for Kinch's quick wits and got a hold of his friend. The radioman smirked and shook his head.

"Let's go, Carter. And try not to faint," he said friendly.

The young sergeant nodded and walked off with Kinch to Hogan's room. Finally reaching their destination, Kinch opened the door and the two men grinned.

Klaussner was standing next to Hogan's bedside smiling softly. The colonel himself was smiling meekly at his men. He wore a surgical cap on his head, was hooked up to an IV, oxygen assistance, and several more wires connected to medical devices. His hands were placed comfortably on his midsection, and the dark circles around his eyes seemed to have faded.

Not containing himself, Carter made a run to Hogan's side and was close to reaching the colonel's legs, when he had another dizzy spell and nearly fainted. Kinch was quickly at his side and gently placed his friend in the chair beside Hogan's bed.

"Easy there, Andrew. I don't need _you_ admitted." The radioman softly spoke.

Klaussner chuckled and stepped to the side for Hogan's men to visit with their commander.

"Hi, Colonel," Carter said, beaming. "You're gonna make it, sir."

Hogan merely chuckled.

" _Colonel_...I'm not a colonel. My name's eh...what is my name?" He asked, smiling like an idiot.

"Colonel?" Carter asked, worried.

"Don't worry, Andrew. Colonel Hogan will be just fine. He's just experiencing side effects from the anesthesia and several medicines we gave him for the surgery," Klaussner said softly.

"So, he's slaphappy?" Kinch questioned.

"In a way, yes. He knows we're here, and he can see us, but he may or may not recognize us or recall who we are until the medicine wears off. He'll be better after awhile, though. Just go along with him in the meantime." The old man answered.

Kinch nodded and returned to look at Hogan grinning.

"We're glad you're gonna be alright, Colonel. We were scared there for a while," he said.

"Who's 'we'?" Hogan asked, puzzled.

"Carter, Newkirk, LeBeau, Richard, Schultz, Langenscheidt, Klink, and I. You know who they are."

The colonel giggled like a schoolgirl.

" _Klink_...that's a funny name," he said.

"Sure is, boy! I mean Colonel," Carter said.

Kinch turned to look at his friend.

"Don't think he'll care at the moment, Carter. He's so out of it, I doubt he'll take any officer role seriously."

Hogan turned to look at his young sergeant and smirked.

"Well, aren't _you_ a pretty thing," he said.

"Oh," Carter said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Thanks, Colonel...you're pretty, too?"

"Where d'you come from?"

"A little place called Stalag 13. Sound familiar?" Kinch replied, answering for Carter.

"Stalag 13...sounds like a fancy motel." Hogan answered.

It took all of Klaussner's self control to stop himself from laughing. He had trouble holding back a few snickers and covered his mouth to prevent it from going any further.

Kinch and Carter were about to attempt a conversation with their colonel, when Hochstetter and Schneider made their way into the room. Both men were emotionless and said nothing.

Seeing them, Carter grabbed onto Hogan protectively, and Kinch put his arm over Hogan's belly. Hogan, on the other hand, found the extra company flattering and smiled bigger.

"Oh, you brought friends," he said.

"These aren't friends, Colonel." the technical sergeant quivered softly.

" _Far_ from it," Kinch said, keeping a careful eye on the two Gestapo officers.

"Hogan," Hochstetter said, making his way further in the room. "I see you are feeling better."

"I don't recall meeting you, sir. Are you at my bingo nights?"

" _Bingo_ nights! I do not play games with prisoners, Hogan! My friend here would like to ask you a few questions."

"It will have to wait, Major," Klaussner said, stepping closer towards his friend. "Colonel Hogan is in no condition of answering questions. He's heavily medicated and not completely coherent."

"Did you operate on this man's heart or his brain?!"

"I told you he is heavily medicated and not aware of his surroundings. His sensory perception is totally off."

" _I_ will determine that." Schneider hissed. He marched his way towards Hogan and leaned forward. He looked at him with complete disgust. Just the American's face was enough to revolt him. "Colonel Hogan, now I have been told by my colleague he suspects you of sabotage and espionage...who do you work with?"

Hogan chuckled softly.

"Why aren't you a pretty girl. What's your name?" He asked innocently.

Schneider's face began to grow a dark shade of pink.

"I do not like games, Colonel. Now answer my question, or you'll find yourself in a very _uncomfortable_ situation!" The Gestapo officer barked. The response made Hogan look at the man surprised, wondering what he had done to upset him.

Carter held onto Hogan tighter, and Kinch kept a close eye on the fierce German officer. There was no way they were letting Schneider hurt their commander. They would die before seeing to it.

Klaussner was about to interject, and Schneider was reaching for his pistol, ready to kill the American officer right there and then, when Prudhomme and Klink heard the commotion and entered Hogan's room.

" _Qu'est-ce que dans flammes_ is going on here?!" Prudhomme hissed, crossing his arms. (3)

Klink stood close to the French doctor and looked as intimidating as possible, which was not much.

The old Gestapo officer put the slightly exposed weapon back in his belt and turned to the two at the door with a malice look on his face.

"Doctor, this man's a criminal and one of the top men wanted in Germany!" Schneider replied, harsh.

"That man can hardly recall what _time_ it is! You'll have to wait another 48 hours before he can even _comprehend_ your questions!" The French doctor answered.

" _48 hours_!"

"The man just had intensive open heart surgery. He nearly died on the operating table. He's in _critical_ condition! Now I demand you two to leave this room and quit disturbing my patient, or I will have hospital security _throw_ you out!"

Kinch and Carter were impressed with Prudhomme's actions. Not even Klaussner was so harsh with the Gestapo. The French doctor seemed the least bit worried about possible consequences.

Schneider glared hard at the doctor, then back at Hogan.

"I'll be back, Colonel Hogan. You _will_ answer my questions one way or another!" He snarled.

Leaving on that note, the two Gestapo officers left the American's room fuming.

"Well," Hogan spoke. "She was not a nice lady."

" _She_ ," Klink gasped.

"Hogan's sensory perception and cognitive skills are near diminished as of now. The strong doses of painkillers, antibiotics, and anesthesia for surgery have made him completely unaware of what is currently going on. He can see us, he can hear us, he can acknowledge our presence, but recalling who you are or recognizing you is highly unlikely as of now," Prudhomme said.

"And he'll be like this for another 48 hours?"

"At _least_. It could be longer. It all depends how well he responds to treatment."

Klink nodded, understanding the French surgeon.

Kinch and Carter turned their attention back to Hogan and sighed.

"Well, Colonel...guess we should be heading back now," Kinch said softly.

"Aw gee, Kinch. Do we have to go _now_?" Carter groaned.

"We'll see him again soon, Carter. He needs his rest now."

The young sergeant sighed and nodded.

"Goodbye, Colonel...get better really soon. We want you to come home as soon as possible."

"Take care, Colonel. You'll see us really soon," Kinch said, smiling.

Both of Hogan's men gave him gentle pats on the shoulder and followed Klink and the two doctors out of the room, when Hogan stopped them.

"Say 'hi' to Nellie and Laverne for me."

"Who's Nellie and Laverne?" Carter asked, perplexed.

Kinch continued helping the young man walk and followed their kommandant to his car.

* * *

(1) Carter's sociopathic commanding officer and Hogan's coma is a reference to my story _'Hogan's Heroes: Only We Can Do That'_.

(2) _Très rare, **en effet**. Comment chanceux votre colonel est de vous avoir - _ Very rare, indeed. How lucky your colonel is to have you.

(3) _Qu'est-ce que dans flammes_ \- What in blazes/also a famous phrase of DeForest Kelley's Dr. McCoy in _'Star Trek'_. Since Prudhomme is highly based on the well known country doctor, I decided to incorporate it into my story for fun.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16:**

"Laverne!" LeBeau exclaimed.

Carter and Kinch were back to camp and after morning roll call, sat around the table in their barracks reporting to both Newkirk and the little Frenchman on how Hogan was doing and the success of the operation.

"At least he gave you a _male's_ name." Newkirk grumbled, in reply. "What'd they do; give him drugs?!"

"Well," Carter said, rubbing his neck. "He hit on me at one point."

Newkirk nodded.

"Yeah, _definitely_ on drugs," he said, sure of himself.

"Will he be alright?" LeBeau asked, worried.

Kinch smiled.

"Richard and Prudhomme say that if all goes well, the Colonel could come home in a week."

LeBeau cheered.

" _Mon Colonel's_ gonna be alright!"

Newkirk gave a sad smile, then hung his head.

"What's wrong, Newkirk? Aren't you excited that the Colonel's coming home?" Carter asked, confused.

The Englishman gave a heavy sigh.

"It's not that I _don't_ want him to come home. I _want_ him to come back to us…" Newkirk stopped and started fumbling with his fingers.

"He won't be mad, Newkirk. He'll understand what happened that night. The only thing he'll care about is that you were lucky and not hurt worse than you were," Kinch said softly.

"Yeah. Tell that to me bloody hand that's gonna be scarred for the rest of me life." Newkirk lifted his left hand, still bandaged. Wilson had said he could remove the cast in another day or so and resume using it as normal. Only thing that would be different was that there would be scarring from the severe second degree burn he received. A memoir of that night that he would have to live with for as long as he lived.

"It wasn't your fault, Pierre. Don't do this to yourself. You'll only get worse if you keep doing this to yourself." LeBeau begged.

Newkirk did not answer. He just kept staring at the table in silence.

Kinch sighed and looked at all of his friends seriously.

"Sadly, we have more than just Newkirk to worry about," he said.

"Like what, Kinch?" The little Frenchman asked.

"Major Schneider. We've _gotta_ get rid of him somehow. If he keeps hanging around, we really _will_ lose Colonel Hogan. That man won't stop until he's dead."

"What if we got Newkirk to sneak into Klink's office and steal the Colonel's eagle? That way when General Burkhalter got here, there wouldn't be solid evidence of Colonel Hogan being involved," Carter suggested.

"It's a good idea, André, but Klink's seen it, too. Having Schneider, Hochstetter, _and_ Klink claim to have seen it would only make Burkhalter suspicious." LeBeau answered.

The young sergeant hung his head and sighed sadly.

"Too bad only American colonels wear eagles. If more than just them wore 'em, there would be more than one possibility to look into."

A light bulb suddenly turned on in Kinch's brain and turned to look at Carter proud.

"Carter! That's it!" The radioman cried.

"What is? What did I do?" The young sergeant asked, worried.

"We'll get everyone in camp to wear an eagle and tell Hochstetter and Schneider it's a new fashion statement. We'll even trick Schultz, Langenscheidt, and the other tamed guards to walk around wearing them!"

"I like it, mate!" Newkirk beamed.

"It's brilliant!" LeBeau cheered.

"How are we gonna get enough eagle pins, though?" Carter asked.

"Leave that to me, Carter. I think a certain American general will be willing to help out," Kinch said, with a mischievous grin.

LeBeau, Newkirk, and Carter looked at one another and grinned.

"We're gonna make Schneider wish he never came out here to begin with, aren't we?" The Englishman spoke sly.

"We sure are, Newkirk...we sure are," Kinch said, a twinkle in his eyes.

* * *

Berkman sent a plane for an airdrop that night and soon enough, all the prisoners and over half of the guards were wearing American colonel eagles.

Three days went by, and Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter stood watching the other men wander around camp and grinned from ear to ear. All four of them were wearing their eagles pinned on the outside of their jackets and shined in the sun's light.

"This was a brilliant idea, _mon ami_ ," LeBeau said, satisfaction on his face.

"Hochstetter just might have an aneurysm with _this_ one," Kinch said, grinning.

"Maybe we'll be lucky, and it'll kill the filthy bosche."

"If were lucky, it might just happen to Schneider, too." Newkirk commented.

"Boy, Schneider's gonna blow up like a…" Kinch covered Carter's mouth immediately. He gave him a harsh glare and got the message across loud and clear. Once Kinch removed his hand, the young sergeant nodded. "Like a volcano," he said softly.

LeBeau scanned the compound and saw a Luftwaffe staff car pull into camp, then stop right next to the Kommandantur's.

"Looks like General Burkhalter is right on time," the little Frenchman said.

"All we need now is Hochstetter and Schneider to arrive, and we can set this plan in motion." Kinch replied, keeping watch of the big general.

Burkhalter saluted his driver and made his way inside to Klink's office.

"Carter, get down in the tunnels and get ready to intercept any phone calls," Kinch ordered softly.

"You got it, boy!"

The young sergeant hurried inside the barracks and disappeared into the tunnels.

"When do you think Hochstetter will get here?" LeBeau questioned.

As if on cue, a Gestapo staff car pulled up alongside Burkhalter's car and exited Hochstetter and Schneider.

Newkirk's eyes gaped from their sockets and without a warning, dashed into the barracks.

Kinch and LeBeau turned to one another and exchanged worried looks with one another.

"Go check on him, will yah? Then listen in on us when you calm him down. I'm gonna head in," the staff sergeant said.

" _Oui_ , Kinch. And be careful."

Kinch gave a wink and made his way towards Klink's office, and LeBeau headed inside the barracks.

* * *

Hochstetter and Schneider entered and were surprised to find General Albert Burkhalter in front of Klink's desk. It seemed like they had barged in on the middle of a conversation.

"General Burkhalter...fancy thing seeing you here again," Hochstetter said, feigning friendliness.

"I wish I could say the same for _you_ , Major." Burkhalter remarked, slightly irritated. "What is it you think Hogan's done _now_?"

"Not what I _think_ , _Herr General_ ; what I _know_."

Burkhalter raised an eyebrow at the short Gestapo officer, then turned his attention to the stranger beside him.

"And who are _you_?" The big general asked suspiciously.

"Major Achim Schneider, _Herr General_. I was assigned to Major Hochstetter's unit to help him with our recent case: that rotten, cocky, pigheaded Colonel Hogan." The major sneered the last part. Just the thought of the man repulsed him.

"It is interesting you say so, Major. As I recall from what Colonel Klink has reported to me and shown from several doctor reports, the only time you saw Hogan was immediately right after regaining consciousness from open heart surgery and was barely coherent of his surroundings." Burkhalter grinned mischievously.

"I only _needed_ one meeting. I am fairly good at reading people inside out, General," Schneider said, with slight aggression.

"First impressions are not the only key factor to determining a person's personality, Major."

The old Gestapo officer approached closer to Burkhalter and stared at him square in the eye.

"What are you saying, General? What do _you_ think of Colonel Hogan?" His hissed.

"A pain in the neck!" Burkhalter replied, with a frown.

Schneider grinned and started chuckling menacingly. It made Klink slouch further into his desk chair. The old German colonel never feared another man so much in his entire life. There was his secret fear of his country's leader himself, but this man terrified him to the core. Hitler had the capability of giving orders to scare someone, but Schneider, Hochstetter, and the entire Gestapo operation itself actually _carried out_ the orders. He did not want to know what the old major was capable of, and he was determined to protect all his prisoners from him to the best of his ability.

"Looks like we're on the same page, then." Schneider sneered.

"However," Burkhalter continued. "I see it fairly hard that for whatever you two suspect Hogan of plausible. The man is currently recovering from a serious medical ailment."

"That's just what I was about to tell you, General," Hochstetter said, grinning. He was about to continue, when Kinch made his appearance into Klink's office.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You have a moment, Kommandant?" Kinch asked innocently.

"Absolutely _not_! Get out," Klink ordered, rising from his desk.

"Who is _this_ man?!" Schneider spat, in disgust.

"That is Sergeant James Kinchloe. Current Senior POW Officer of Stalag 13 until Colonel Hogan is well enough to return to his duties." Klink answered.

"I just have one quick…" Kinch stopped and saw Hogan's eagle on the Kommandant's desk. His face brightened like a Christmas tree. "Hey, where did you get one of those, Kommandant?" The radioman was about to grab it, when Hochstetter snapped his arm in front of his reach, blocking the shiny object from hands reach.

" _That_ is a highly important piece of evidence, Sergeant! It was found near the explosion that took place not too far from here over two weeks ago. I suspect your precious Colonel Hogan's heart inflicted ailment was caused from his involvement regarding it." The short Gestapo officer snarled.

Kinch started laughing.

"Major, that's not evidence of the Colonel. _Everyone's_ wearing them nowadays," he said, smiling.

"What do you mean, Sergeant Kinchloe?" Burkhalter asked, intrigued.

"Yeah. What do you mean?" Klink repeated, suspicious.

"Well, General, everyone in camp's wearing them like I am. I even noticed some of the guards are wearing 'em recently. It's a fashion statement, sir." Kinch began.

Schneider scoffed and crossed his arms.

"Impossible," he said. "No loyal German would wear such filth."

Kinch was about to continue, when Schultz entered into the office wearing the exact pin Kinch was and looked exactly like Hogan's.

"Schultz, what are you doing?!" Klink cried. He spotted the same eagle pin on his sergeant of the guard's jacket, and his mouth hung from its jaws. After regaining control over himself, he addressed the man of it. "Why are you wearing that American officer's pin?"

" _Herr Kommandant_ , everybody in _camp_ is wearing them! It's a new style, sir. Why are _you_ not wearing one?" The pudgy guard remarked, confused.

" _Everyone_?"

"The prisoners, the guards, _everybody_!"

"I don't believe it," Hochstetter said, harsh. He made his way to Klink's office window and opened it. He looked out into the compound and gaped at his sight. Sure enough, most of the guards and all of the prisoners were wearing at least one eagle pin. They sparkled in the sun's ray of light as they socialized, walked around, and played sports.

Hochstetter swallowed a knot in his throat, turned around pale, and was wearing no facial expression.

"I don't believe it…"

"All prisoners and guards are…" Klink was cut off by the short man.

" _Jawohl_ , Klink...they are."

The old kommandant turned to Schultz.

"What did you want Schultz?" He asked meekly.

" _Herr Kommandant_ , I would like to report that all prisoners' bunks are…"

"Oh, shut up, Schultz."

The big sergeant simply saluted in response and left Klink's office without another word.

"Impossible! I'm calling my commanding officer this minute! He wouldn't _dare_ subject to such insolence!" Schneider hissed. He stormed over to Klink's phone and picked it up harshly. "Get me Colonel Kaestner at Gestapo Headquarters at once!"

Kinch shifted uncomfortably on his feet to sell his act.

"Hello, Colonel. It's Major Schneider calling from Stalag 13," The old major said friendly.

In the tunnels under barracks two, Carter was hard at work sounding as much like Kaestner as possible.

"I know who this is, Major! Quit your blabbing and tell me what you want. What's the report," The young sergeant ordered, using a remarkable, gruff German accent.

"We have sufficient evidence here that strengthens our hypothesis regarding Colonel Hogan, but I'm being told otherwise."

"What is it?"

"An American officer's eagle pin. It was found not too far from the site of the explosion we are investigating."

" _Dummkopf_! Anyone in Germany could have one of those!"

"What do you mean 'anyone in Germany'?"

"Everyone's wearing them nowadays. I'm wearing mine right now as we speak, and I don't appreciate being compared to an American, understood?!"

Schneider shook his head with his jaw dropping and eyes bugging out.

"No...no...NO!"

" _Yes_! And don't call me again until you found sufficient evidence on this man! From what I'm aware of, he is currently recovering from critical heart surgery! NO MAN SUFFERING A HEART AILMENT COULD COMMIT SUCH A CRIME, MAJOR!"

"Uh huh." Schneider's face had lost all color, and his eyes looked like they were losing connection with reality.

" _Heil Hitler_!"

" _Heil Hitler_."

Schneider hung up the phone, swallowed a knot in his throat, and slowly turned to face Hochstetter, Burkhalter, Kinch, and Klink.

"He's wearing one himself," he said, just above a whisper.

Klink looked at Schneider in shock and quickly turned to his temporary Senior POW.

Kinch, standing near the door, turned to look at the old German colonel and exchanged looks with him. Both men quickly made their eyes back on the old major. He looked like he was losing all of his mentality.

Schneider drew his attention to Hochstetter and instantly, the old major's eyes dilated and were soon just pure black. Fire burned within them, and the major looked mentally ill. He looked like a rabid dog; Schneider had gone blind mad.

" _You_!" He hissed, pointing to Hochstetter. "You set me up to this all to make me look like a fool in front of Colonel Kaestner!" He made a slight approach towards the short man.

Hochstetter stood there staring blankly at his old partner, not knowing what to do. He had never been in a situation where one of his own had turned on him.

"Ah...ha," Hochstetter could get nothing further out of his mouth.

Schneider felt for his belt without taking his eyes off his target and grabbed his pistol out. He lock-and-loaded it, and pointed it at Hochstetter.

Klink shivered and swallowed hard.

"Oh, good riddance," he said softly.

The short Gestapo officer slowly maneuvered himself behind Burkhalter and hid his face like a little kid would with their parent meeting a new person.

The large general slowly turned his head to look behind him and frowned.

"Major, your actions resemble those of a small child." He sneered. Seeing that Hochstetter was not moving, Burkhalter sighed and returned his attention to Schneider. "Major Schneider, I must order you to withdraw your weapon."

"And why should I?! What purpose does he have worth living for?!" The old major barked.

"Major Hochstetter is the one in the Gestapo most familiar with Colonel Hogan and his background. Killing him would weaken sources of receiving any valuable information regarding Hogan and his history in the military and residency here at Stalag 13. You would be eliminating an asset in keeping Hogan under control."

"Wouldn't you just rather...kill him anyways?" Klink questioned hesitantly.

Burkhalter turned his glance at the cowering colonel and glared hard at him.

"Klink, if you don't shut up, you will _also_ go under consideration of transfer to the Russian Front!"

"Yes, _Herr General_. I shall shut up now." Klink shrunk back to himself and kept his big mouth shut from further commentary.

Burkhalter gave Klink one more disapproving look, then returned his attention to Schneider.

The old major, highly reluctant to following orders, slowly lowered his weapon with his hand shaking and put it back in its holster.

Hochstetter could be heard letting out a breath of relief and made his way slowly out from behind Burkhalter.

Schneider held his eyes on the short man before him.

There was dead silence throughout the entire office, when Klink's phone started ringing.

"Ah! I got it!" Hochstetter cried, feigning a smile. He hurried to the desk and picked up the landline. "Major Hochstetter speaking...who is this?...Captain Dietrich, I don't know someone by that name...you have a what?...a package for what?... _ja_... _ja_ , I will be over immediately... _Heil Hitler_." After hanging up, Hochstetter was grinning ear to ear. He quickly went for his jacket and cap and began putting them on in a hurry.

"Why are you in such a hurry, Major Hochstetter?" Burkhalter questioned, with suspicion.

"I have an important package waiting at Headquarters for me. I will be leaving now. Uh, Klink...you can keep that eagle pin. Put it to some use." After quickly putting on his cap, Hochstetter hurried out of Klink's office without saying another word.

Kinch, Klink, Burkhalter, and Schneider hurried after the Gestapo major and by the time they had made it outside, Hochstetter was out of Stalag 13 and driving back to Headquarters.

"THAT MONGREL LEFT ME STRANDED HERE!" Schneider bellowed.

"Oh, Major, feel free to take one of my staff cars," Klink offered, smiling like a loon.

"GAH!" Schneider stormed off towards one of the kommandant's cars and just as quickly left Stalag 13.

As soon as both Gestapo majors were gone, Kinch turned to Klink.

"So, about what I wanted to talk about earlier," he began.

Klink snapped his attention to Kinch and sneered at him.

"Diiiiiissssssssmiiiiisssssssed!" He remarked harshly.

Kinch sadly sighed and made his way back to barracks two, leaving a ruffled up Klink and irritated Burkhalter behind.

Klink shook his fist and moaned.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17:**

Kinch entered the barracks finding LeBeau, Newkirk, and Carter sitting at the table in the common area. The three men turned and looked at him. They were eager to hear how it went. The radioman simply smiled.

"I don't think Major Schneider will be bothering us again anytime soon," he said.

All three of his friends sighed with relief.

"Thank yah, God," Newkirk said, finally seeming at ease.

LeBeau smiled and nodded, then he turned to Kinch with a much more serious composure.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, _mon ami_?" There was a slight hint of urgency in the little man's voice.

"Sure thing, LeBeau," Kinch said.

"In _mon Colonel's_ room."

The radioman nodded and followed the Frenchman into their commanding officer's room. Kinch closed the door and leaned against it, facing his little friend.

"What is it, Louis? You seem like something's wrong."

"There _is_ , Kinch...it's Pierre."

"What's wrong with Newkirk?"

"When you told me to go in and check on him, I did...and what I found was _effrayant_!"

"I don't know what that means, but I sure don't like the sound of it."

" _Effrayant_. It means 'frightening'. When I found Pierre, he was standing in the far corner out there frozen stiff. Color gone, eyes glassed over, and he had a gun pointed at me."

"A _gun_?!"

LeBeau sadly nodded.

" _Oui_...he must have gotten a hold of one hidden in his footlocker...I was worried I would not get him to snap out of it this time. He's getting worse, Kinch."

"Does Carter know about this?"

" _Non_. I did not want to upset him. He's been so happy ever since we found out that the Colonel's gonna make it."

Kinch let out a heavy sigh and turned his head to the ceiling.

"Oh boy...what are we gonna do, Louis?"

"We have to find a psychiatrist for him."

"I know. I'm gonna talk with Otto later tonight about it. Maybe he knows someone in the underground that's a professionally trained one."

"You think he can find one, Kinch?"

The radioman shook his head and crossed his arms.

"I don't know, LeBeau...I wish I _did_ know," he simply said.

Neither of them spoke for several moments before LeBeau sighed and broke the silence.

"How much longer do you think Pierre has, Kinch?"

"I don't know, Louis," he said. "But I can sure tell you it isn't long.

* * *

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Newkirk screamed, in his sleep. He tossed and turned violently. "GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR! GOV'NOR!"

Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter got from their bunks quickly and made their way to Newkirk's. Carter sat on the bench left of Kinch, and LeBeau sat on the right. The radioman sat in the middle and shook the Englishman, trying to arouse him from his nightmare.

"Newkirk...Newkirk, wake up. It's a nightmare, Peter. Wake up, Newkirk," Kinch urged.

Newkirk's blue eyes flashed open and grabbed a hold of his friend's neck collar roughly. His mind was lost in another world, another reality. The Newkirk Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter knew and loved was not there with them.

"Get your filthy paws off me, yah bleedin' Kraut!" He hissed.

"Newkirk, get a hold of yourself! You're in barracks two with your friends! Snap out of it, Peter," Kinch ordered.

"Touch Colonel Hogan, and I'll slay every last one of yah!"

"Pierre, it's us, _mon ami_. Your friends. You are safe now. There's no one here to hurt you." LeBeau begged.

Recognition swept across Newkirk's face and realizing what he was doing, his hands shook and slowly let loose his hold on Kinch. He looked at his hands as if they were stained with blood on them, then he returned his attention quickly to his friend, who was sitting there and looking at him worried.

"Kinch... _help me_!" Newkirk pleaded.

"Another nightmare about the night you were hurt?" The radioman friendly asked.

"Worse. There was Gestapo men there this time...they...they…" Newkirk could not finish his sentence. He simply shuddered instead.

"What, Peter? What did they do?"

"They...they _killed_ him, Kinch...they killed the Gov'nor right in front of me…" he choked on his words.

"The Colonel's just fine, Newkirk. He'll be home in just a few more days."

"He may be weak and resting still, but he'll be home safe and sound with us, Pierre," LeBeau reassured his friend.

"Kinch, I'm going mad, mate. I'm losing me mind, and it's bloody terrifying, Kinch!" Newkirk cried.

"Don't worry. I have Otto out looking for help as we speak," the staff sergeant said calmly.

"I need a ruddy _shrink_ , Kinch! Not a bloody underground member trained in psychology!"

"Otto has some friends in the underground that are doctors. He and Richard are on the search right now."

The Englishman fell silent, then gave a heavy sigh. He looked down at the floor like he was looking for an answer, then back at his friends.

"What about the French doc? Prudhomme?" He asked.

"He's a cardiac surgeon, buddy," Carter said, confused.

"He doesn't treat psychiatric trauma." LeBeau added.

"I know the man ain't a ruddy shrink, but maybe he knows some fancy shmancy one. He _has_ to have connections being so renowned!" Newkirk growled.

"I'll ask him when I get the chance. As of now, I want him to focus his attention on the Colonel. All _four_ of us want him back to health as soon as possible," Kinch said, firm.

" _Oui_ ," LeBeau said, nodding.

"Boy, I couldn't agree with yah more, Kinch. I sure miss the Colonel. I hate solving problems without him. He just always knows how to go about it and what to do to solve it. Why, I remember this one time where I was having trouble with an assignment, and he turned around to me and…" Carter was cut off by LeBeau.

"André, _fermer la bouche_." (1)

The young sergeant looked at LeBeau befuddled.

"What's that mean, Louis?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes to the heavens, then returned his gaze to Kinch.

The radioman sighed and looked at the three of his friends.

"Why don't we all go back to sleep? Roll call's in another three hours," he said, looking at his watch.

" _I_ , for one, ain't gonna be able to go back to sleep even if yah got Joe to put me into a bloody coma!" Newkirk remarked, sharp.

"Then _pretend_ to be asleep."

The Englishman closed his eyes and nodded.

"Alright, mate...I'll try that," he said sadly. Newkirk hated the fact he was snapping at his best friends, but the whole situation was driving him crazy. Realistic nightmares, visions of that night, objects that triggered random outbursts, sudden delusions and hallucinations, he was not sure how much more he could endure before losing it all together. He needed medical attention soon, but who could he turn to? Certainly not any of the doctors in Germany. The only outcome of that possibility was being put in a psychiatric institution and slowly be tortured to death by God knew _what_ methods.

Putting those thoughts aside for the rest of the night, Newkirk lay down and stared at the bottom of the top bunk, where Carter temporarily slept. He decided to think about Hogan's miraculous survival from his injuries. His heart had been tended to and was expected to make a full recovery back to health. He was glad that his commanding officer was going to get better and come back to them in a few more days. Hopefully, it would be enough to end these horrid nightmares and terrors he kept having. Yet, he was not satisfied. Every time he thought of Hogan, his mind returned to Rotes. The poor young man had not been spared in the explosion that night. The images of his body being scattered around the area still remained fresh and what felt like forever imprinted in his mind. He shuddered recalling that night and pulled his blanket farther up around him.

"Blimey, God...I don't talk to yah often, but I sure need yah now, sir...help me, sir... _please_." Soon enough, exhaustion swept over Newkirk, and he was quickly taken into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Klink was busy at his desk that morning working on paper after paper after paper. Some of them were reports for Berlin and some were hospital release forms for Hogan he needed done by Saturday, which was when he was predicted to come home. The pile never seemed to end, but somehow, he had managed to finish half of the stack at that moment.

He was so lost in what he was doing, he did not notice Kinch barge his way into the office. The sergeant stood silently in front of Klink's desk and waited for the man to take notice on him.

Klink glanced up quickly, saw Kinch, then returned his eyes to his work. It then hit him his current Senior POW was present and snapped his head back up at him.

"Sergeant Kinchloe, I am _not_ in the mood for any of your shenanigans!" Klink spat, and went back to his papers.

"I just had one little request, sir," Kinch started.

"Forget it. Whatever it is, the answer is 'no'."

"You haven't even heard it yet."

"I don't _need_ to hear it, Sergeant Kinchloe! Can't you see all these papers I have to get through?! I have reports needed to be sent back to Berlin, requests that need approval from General Burkhalter, release forms to discharge…" The old kommandant stopped speaking, when his office phone began ringing. He sighed heavily and picked it up with discontentment. "Colonel Klink speaking," he said, with no feeling. He straightened up immediately and the expression on his face changed like the flick of a light switch. "Major Hochstetter, what brings you to call so early in the morning?...what?...He's...how? Where? When?...I understand, Major...yes, sir, I will repeat this to no one. I'll talk to you soon then, huh...oh yeah, _Heil Hitler_."

Klink hung up the phone and began rubbing his head with his fingertips. A massive headache was beginning to form.

"Something wrong, Kommandant?" Kinch asked, genuinely concerned.

Klink looked up at his current Senior POW Officer and swallowed hard. How he wished Hogan were there. He would know what to do. He would know what to say to him to make him more at ease with what Hochstetter had just reported to him. Hogan always seemed to know what to say to calm _anybody_.

"Major Schneider's dead," Klink said, in shock.

" _Dead_." Kinch gasped.

"Found early this morning shot to death four miles to the west of here. Major Hochstetter is currently investigating his murder."

"Anyone Major Hochstetter suspects?"

"Nothing. He had no idea who killed Major Schneider."

"Whoa."

"Sergeant Kinchloe, this stays just between you and I, or you're as good as dead, understood?" Klink warned.

"Yes, sir," Kinch said, still taken aback by the news. He gave Klink a sloppy salute and exited the Kommandantur's.

* * *

(1) _F_ _ermer la bouche_ \- Shut up.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18:**

"Dead!" Carter cried.

"Dead as a doornail," Kinch said, crossing his arms.

The four of Hogan's men had gathered around at the table in the main area. All of them were stunned at the news the staff sergeant had just shared with them. Someone had killed Schneider in cold blooded murder.

"Blimey." Newkirk gasped. He could not believe his ears.

"Who do you think killed him, Kinch?" Carter asked.

"My money's all bettin' on Hochstetter," the leading sergeant said, in response.

"You think Hochstetter killed Schneider?!"

"Wouldn't _you_ kill someone that was after you for humiliating them in front of their boss?" Newkirk remarked.

"I say we go after Hochstetter and get rid of _both_ filthy bosches." LeBeau hissed.

"Oh, come on guys. Hochstetter didn't do anything wrong." Carter answered.

"How can you say such a thing?!" LeBeau spat.

"That man's tried to kill the Gov'nor over a _hundred_ times, and yah taking his side on this?!" Newkirk exclaimed.

"I'm not taking his side, I'm just saying he did something out of self defense. I mean, would you rather have Hochstetter snooping around here or have it had been the other way around, and we were left with Schneider instead? Had Klink and Dr. Prudhomme not stepped into the Colonel's room that night he had his surgery, Schneider would've killed him. Then we really _would_ have lost Colonel Hogan!" Carter defended himself.

"I'd rather have _neither_ ," LeBeau said. Just the thought of the Gestapo made him cringe with disgust.

The English corporal gave a heavy sigh. He had to agree with Carter on that. Had Schneider still been alive and killed Hochstetter instead of it being the other way, there was no doubt that the old, mad Gestapo major would have found a way to kill Hogan quickly and undetected until it was too late to save him. Hochstetter may have been a pain in the neck, obsessive over the American officer, and easily infuriated, but he had never actually made an attempt to killing Hogan. The worse he had done so far was try and find any opportunity possible to try and expose Hogan and his supposed operation. For the moment, all Hochstetter wanted was solid evidence that would prove all this time he had been right about the colonel and bring him to justice at Gestapo Headquarters.

"You're right, Andrew. Hochstetter's less of a threat compared to Schneider _any_ day." He answered, rubbing his neck.

"You think they'll figure out it was Hochstetter that did it?" LeBeau asked, turning to Kinch.

"Hard to say, Louis. I could be wrong for all we know, but I'm willing to bet all the money in the world that it was him that did it." The sergeant in question answered.

"Kinch," Carter started. "Have you heard anything from Prudhomme or Richard at the hospital?"

Kinch smiled and seemed to light up the room while doing so.

"Richard says the Colonel's health is improving beautifully. He's becoming more aware of what's going on and even beginning to argue with him on resting again."

All of them started laughing.

"That's our Gov'nor alright," Newkirk said, grinning.

"That's the _mon Colonel_ I know and love." LeBeau added, smiling boldly.

"You sure betcha, boy!" Carter cheered.

"Alright, guys. Settle down, now," Kinch said, trying to ease the group. "We gotta contain our energy as much as we can. The Colonel's still very sick and needs lots of rest and a calm environment to do so. His heart may be growing stronger again, but it's still very weak from where it needs to be."

"You're right, Kinch. We must make sure the Colonel has all the rest he can get when he comes home. We want him healthy again as soon as possible." LeBeau replied, with determination.

"Hey! We could give him a 'Welcome Back' party!" Carter cried, thinking it was a great idea.

"Maybe when he's better, Andrew," Kinch suggested.

"You think it's a really good idea to yell 'Welcome home' to someone who just had open heart surgery?" LeBeau asked, raising an eyebrow.

The young man slouched in his chair and gave a look of embarrassment.

"Well, I thought it was a good idea," he sadly said.

Kinch rolled his eyes while smiling, then turned his attention back to LeBeau.

"Hey, LeBeau, you think you could make the Colonel something nice and warm for when he comes home? Richard wants to try and get his appetite back as much as possible."

The little Frenchman stood tall and straight at attention.

"I shall do it with _honor, mon ami_!" He replied proudly.

Kinch smirked and shook his head.

"You sure are something else, Louis," he said, smiling.

The four of them sat down at the table and began planning for Hogan's homecoming for Saturday evening.

* * *

The hours and days ticked away and soon enough, the big day arrived! On Saturday evening around 4PM, Carter and Klink headed off to the hospital to pick up Hogan and bring him home, while Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk stayed behind at camp and took care of the place and got ready for their commanding officer's welcome home.

Carter and Klink stood outside by the German colonel's car as they waited for a nurse or doctor to bring Hogan outside in a wheelchair. The young sergeant leaned against the car with an anxious expression on his face, while Klink paced back and forth across the concrete sidewalk every now and then glancing up at the revolving door.

"What's taking those people so long?! Don't they know I have to get back to my camp? I probably have _hundreds_ of prisoners running around in and out of camp right now!" Klink moaned.

"Oh, come on, Kommandant. It'll be alright. I'm sure Schultz has a _great_ hold on things," Carter said, trying to give encouragement.

"Which worries me _greatly_ , Sergeant." Klink replied, worried. He continued pacing back and forth, every now and then fumbling with his swagger stick behind his back.

Carter shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket and looked down at the ground. He too, was now growing concerned regarding Hogan. What was taking so long? Did something medically go wrong suddenly? Had Hogan suffered from another severe heart attack? Had the surgery failed? As much as he tried to put those questions to the back of his mind, they just kept coming back to him. It was beginning to make him apprehensive.

As the camp kommandant was about to barge inside to the front desk and demand to know what was going on, both his and Carter's prayers were answered when a pretty nurse and Dr. Prudhomme wheeled Hogan out in a black wheelchair. A hospital bracelet on his left hand and taped gauze on his right remained on the American officer. His color was off, but was better than it had been the night Hogan had been admitted into the emergency room. He was smiling softly, though it was easy to distinguish how exhausted he felt. The usual twinkle in his eyes was dull and weak.

The young sergeant's face lightened up like a Christmas tree and ran towards his commanding officer. Unable to control himself, he wrapped his arms tight around Hogan, making the commanding officer chuckle softly.

"Easy there, Carter," he said, a bit raspy.

"What took you so long? I've been waiting out here for forty-five minutes worried sick out of my mind," Klink ordered firmly.

"I was finishing up with a last minute exam on your Colonel here, Kommandant. I refuse to let this man out of my sight unless reassured he is capable of leaving this facility." Prudhomme answered, a bit gruff.

The old German shook his fist and groaned, then turned to the young sergeant standing beside him. "Sergeant Carter, assist Colonel Hogan into the car. I would like to have a word with Dr. Prudhomme," he ordered.

"Sure thing, Kommandant!" Carter answered, eager. He eased Hogan out of his wheelchair and helped him walk the short distance to the automobile. Once his commanding officer had gotten into the vehicle and made himself comfortable, Carter closed the door and made his way to the left side to enter in. He sat down next to Hogan and smiled. "Boy, am I sure glad you're coming home, Colonel. We've missed yah like crazy, sir!"

The American officer gave a faint smile.

"I'm glad, too, Carter. It's not exactly fun to lay in bed all day and sleep."

"Are you sure you're alright? You look drained."

"I'm alright. I'm gonna have to take it easy for awhile, but I'll be alright."

"How long are you gonna be out for?"

"Oh, probably about another two weeks before I'm able to start doing regular things again. The most I'll be able to do for now is rest, sit, walk short distances, eat, and read." Hogan yawned. "It could be another week before I'm able to have a decent conversation with you guys. I'm sorry, Carter."

"Don't worry, Colonel. You just get well as quickly as possible."

"Is Schneider still giving you trouble?"

The young sergeant shifted uncomfortably and started rubbing the back of his neck.

"Uh...actually, sir, uh...Schneider is...was...he's...someone killed him, Colonel."

Hogan raised his eyebrow a bit.

"Someone _killed_ him," he remarked, surprised.

"Kinch thinks Hochstetter did it. You see…" Carter hung his head and shook it, ashamed of himself. Here was his ailing commanding officer recovering from massive heart surgery, and he was burdening him with the stress of a situation that did not even matter to them anymore. "Aw gee, I blew it big time. I'm sorry, Colonel, I didn't mean to stress yah, sir."

Hogan gently patted Carter's shoulder.

"I'm alright, Carter. You can tell me."

"Well...Hochstetter and Schneider found one of your eagle pins near the munitions site where you and Newkirk were hurt. We tricked them into believing everyone was wearing them now to look stylish. Schneider almost killed Hochstetter in Klink's office for making him look like a fool."

Hogan softly smirked.

"Good Old Hochstetter causing more trouble, huh?"

"You sure betcha, boy...sir."

The American colonel closed his eyes and smiled meekly. He was growing tired.

Carter smiled small and let his commanding officer sleep. After everything he had been through this last month, he deserved it.

* * *

Once arriving back in camp, Carter escorted Hogan to barracks two and was welcomed back with smiles and pats on the back. Kinch helped the colonel get into his pajamas and into bed, then gave him his medicine to make him sleep comfortably. Once assured Hogan was asleep and resting, the staff sergeant closed the door carefully behind him and made his way back to LeBeau and Carter.

The young sergeant kept looking around the barracks for Newkirk, but saw no sign of him.

"Hey, Kinch, where's Newkirk? I don't see him anywhere." Carter wondered.

"He's in the infirmary with Joe. He wanted to see how Pierre's hand was doing," LeBeau said.

"Is he alright?"

"Nothing happened while you were gone, Andrew. Don't worry." Kinch answered.

Carter hung his head and frowned. He still felt guilty about telling Hogan about Schneider. He hoped he did not make a roadblock in his commanding officer's recovery.

"What's wrong, André?" LeBeau asked, concerned.

"You guys are gonna get mad at me," the young sergeant said sadly. "I...Colonel Hogan...he knows about Schneider."

"Does he know about Newkirk and Rotes?" Kinch asked, anxious.

Carter shook his head.

"No, but he sure knows Schneider's dead."

"As long as what's going on with Newkirk is kept secret, we're fine."

"How did _mon Colonel_ take the news?" The little Frenchman asked.

"He laughed and said 'Good Old Hochstetter at it again'." Carter answered, unsure of where his little friend was taking this.

LeBeau grinned and shook his head.

"I think Colonel Hogan is gonna make it, _mes amis_."

"I think you're right, Louis," Kinch said, crossing his arms.

The door to the barracks opened, and Newkirk entered.

"Is the Gov'nor home yet?" He asked.

"Just got back not too long ago. He's sleeping, though." Kinch answered.

"You'll have to wait to talk to him until later." LeBeau added.

"How's your hand, buddy?" Carter asked.

Newkirk sighed and shook his head.

"Not what I was worried about, but it looks like a crummy battle zone." The Englishman answered softly.

"Does it look bad, Pierre?" LeBeau asked.

Newkirk lifted his left hand slowly and showed his friends the remainder of his injury. The three of them held their breaths, and it took all their effort to stop themselves from gasping.

The Englishman's hand had angry scars running from his thumb almost clear up to his wrist. Some stretched out as far to the other side of his hand. On some parts of his hand, the skin looked thicker than in the spots that were spared in the explosion.

"Newkirk…" Kinch stopped. He had no idea what to say to his friend. What did you say in a situation like this?

"That ain't the worst of it, mate. Yah gotta find a shrink, Kinch."

"I'm trying, Newkirk. I've got underground members, London, and several of Richard's colleagues looking for one right now."

"Why the sudden urgency, Pierre?" The Frenchman asked, curious.

"'Cause...it won't be long now," the Englishman said softly.

"Won't be long until what?" Kinch asked, suspicious.

"...Joe thinks I'm developing schizophrenia."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19:**

" _Schizophrenia_!" Kinch gasped.

"Or something similar to it. I apparently had an outburst a while ago, and I can't remember it happening." Newkirk answered.

"About what?" LeBeau asked.

"I don't know. Joe wouldn't tell me. He said it might have set me off again," The Englishman said. "He said I kept screaming 'Get back! Get back! I'll kill all of yah!'."

Kinch nodded softly with a tired expression on his face.

"I'll get you that psychiatrist, Newkirk," he said, and was about to bang on the fake bunk, when it opened, and Baker made his way out of the tunnel.

"Message from London, Kinch," he said, handing the current head of the operation a slip of paper.

The staff sergeant took the piece of paper, read it, and sighed heavily.

"They want us to sabotage a small Gestapo unit being set up seven miles from here. Apparently, they have plans that could cause the Allies a serious loss in the war." He read, irritated.

"I'm sorry, Kinch," Baker said sincerely.

"Tell London message received and acknowledged." Kinch handed the slip of paper back to his assistant and watched Baker disappear into the ground. He sighed again and sat down at the table. "As if we don't have _enough_ to worry about already."

"We will get through it, _mon ami_! If we can get through the Colonel getting sick and nearly dying, we can get through this assignment!" LeBeau cried encouraging.

"Yeah, Kinch! In fact, if you want me to, I can get started right now!" Carter added, already headed towards the fake bunk. He stopped, when he spotted Newkirk's sudden change in behavior. His skin had drained of color and looked like he was about to be sick. His breathing was becoming shallow, and his eyes were losing connection with reality. The young sergeant swallowed a knot in his throat, and tried to fight back his fear as much as he could. "Newkirk...are you alright, buddy?"

Newkirk started softly hyperventilating, clenched his eyes shut, grabbed his head with his hands, and started screaming bloody murder. He collapsed to the ground and continued his shrieking.

Carter and Kinch rushed to their friend and knelt beside him on each side. The radioman snapped his head to LeBeau.

"Get Joe and hurry," he ordered.

" _Oui_ , Kinch!"

LeBeau was fast on his feet and hurried to find the camp medic.

"Come on, Newkirk. Not in front of the Colonel, now. Snap out of it, Newkirk!" Kinch pleaded, shaking his friend's shoulders roughly.

"COLONEL! HELP! COLONEL! COLONEL!" Newkirk shouted.

"Snap out of it, buddy! Please!" Carter begged.

Newkirk's eyes shot open, sprinted from where he was into the corner in the far side of the barracks, and pulled out a pistol from his pocket.

"Back! All of yah, back! I'll kill yah if yah take one step closer!" He barked.

Kinch and Carter rose from the ground and held their hands in the air.

"Newkirk, it's your friends: Kinch and Carter. It's just a hallucination," Kinch ordered.

"LIAR!" The Englishman snapped.

Wilson rushed in with LeBeau following quickly behind. Both of them stopped in their tracks and gulped seeing what condition Newkirk was currently in.

"Psychosis." The medic gasped.

"What kind of psychosis, _mon ami_?" LeBeau asked, worried.

"There isn't a type of psychosis," he said softly. "Just one bad state of mind."

"Newkirk, snap out of it already! We don't wanna hurt you, buddy!" Carter begged.

"Liars, ALL OF YAH! Stay away from the Gov'nor, yah hear me?!" Newkirk hissed. His grip on the gun tightened.

"We've gotta get that gun out of his hand," Wilson said softly.

"How do we do that?" Kinch asked, in the same tone.

"Keep talking to him. If he doesn't snap out of it, all of you get down on the ground the minute I say so."

"Joe, don't put yourself in danger."

"It's either I, or Colonel Hogan and you three that will be put in danger. Would you rather lose one life or four?"

" _None_ , Joe."

"Then start talking to him. Convince him you're not who he thinks you are."

Kinch took in a deep breath and made his way around to the other side of the table. He took one step closer towards Newkirk, and the Englishman's finger started making its way to the trigger.

"Newkirk, put that gun down," the sergeant said calmly.

"Over my dead body." Newkirk snarled back.

"What do I have to do to prove I'm not who you think we are?"

"Where's Colonel Hogan?"

"He's in his quarters sleeping. He just came home from the hospital."

Newkirk did not respond.

"Newkirk...Newkirk...Newkirk, answer me!"

No response. Soon enough, he snapped out of his trance and shook his head a few times. Newkirk looked around wondering how he got to where he was and wondered what he was holding. He looked down and gaped at the gun in his hand.

"How the bloody hell…" he stopped. He looked up and saw Kinch, Carter, LeBeau, and Wilson watching him carefully. "What the bloody hell just happened?"

"You lost it, Newkirk," Carter said, fighting back from trembling.

"From what? What did yah say?"

No one answered him. They just stood there staring at him stunned.

The Englishman gulped hard and started trembling.

"I had another outburst, didn't I?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"You threatened to kill us, Pierre," LeBeau said, weak.

Kinch walked closer to Newkirk and gently took the gun out of his friend's hand. The Englishman shook harshly and fell to the ground. At that moment, all four of them saw something for the first time in their lives: Newkirk began to break down and cry.

"I killed him...oh God, I killed him, Kinch! I killed him, I killed him, I killed him, Kinch!" He bawled.

The staff sergeant knelt beside him and began rubbing his back gently.

"It was an accident, Newkirk. You didn't do a single thing to try and kill Rotes."

"I set those bombs! I killed Rotes! I could've killed the Gov'nor! What would we have done if the Gov'nor hadn't made it either?!"

"Colonel Hogan's just fine, Newkirk. He's getting better and resting in his room. Prudhomme said he would make a full recovery."

Kinch's friend continued sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Colonel...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ , Gov'nor! I didn't mean to, sir! I didn't mean to kill him, I swear!"

Wilson looked at Newkirk with sympathy. He felt awful for his friend and wanted to do something for him, but he was no psychiatrist. Besides the ailments and their symptoms, he had no idea how to treat such maladies. A broken bone he could fix. A torn muscle he could fix. A dislocated joint he could fix. A scarred mind he could not fix.

"Have you found a psychiatrist for Newkirk yet?" The medic asked softly.

"Not yet, Joe. Trying to find a good psychiatrist in Germany is like trying to find a Gestapo officer in the resistance." Kinch sadly answered.

"I don't know what's more sadder; the fact that Newkirk's mental health is rapidly declining, or the fact that statement is true."

"How about both," LeBeau suggested quietly.

Newkirk wiped his wet, red, and puffy eyes eyes, then turned to look at Kinch.

"What are we gonna do, mate?" He asked helplessly.

"I don't know, Newkirk...I just don't know."

"We've gotta tell the Gov'nor."

"Absolutely _not_! Not in his current condition! You could cause the man to have a fatal heart attack for crying out loud!" Wilson snapped.

"He's gonna find out sooner or later, Joe! He ain't that stupid, yah know! He's got connections, he'll find someone for me!" Newkirk retorted, a bit harsh.

"He's only gonna get worse, _mon ami_. We need to tell him," LeBeau said, in agreement.

"We'll lose Newkirk to schizophrenia if we don't, Joe." Carter quivered.

The camp medic let out a heavy sigh and hung his head.

"Then do it gently. I don't know how much he can handle in his current condition," he said softly.

Kinch nodded.

"It's settled. Tomorrow evening after roll call, we tell him."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20:**

Hogan sat in his bed resting comfortably that morning. He had to admit; it was nice for once to just lay back and get away from work and stress. As much as he hated being confined to so little activities and movement, he was starting to feel refreshed and well again. The many hours of sleep he had needed was serving him well. His back, shoulders, and muscles did not ache, he was not suffering from his usual stress headaches, and was actually gaining a little weight. His belly was a little more fluffy and would be near impossible to guess he was a prisoner of war had he been seen walking around casually in Germany, which he did anyways.

Laying in bed and lost in his book, Hogan was at peace and tranquility when a knock on the door brought him out of it. He gently put his book down on his middle and watched Newkirk enter the room.

The English corporal was smiling faintly and looked tired and drained. Like he had not gotten a decent sleep for five days straight.

"How are yah feeling, Gov'nor?" He asked friendly.

Hogan gave a soft smile. He looked better, but there was still fatigue in his expression and eyes.

"I'm feeling a lot better, Newkirk. Thank you. How are you guys doing?" He responded.

"Hanging in there, sir. We'll be glad when you take command again."

Hogan grinned.

"Glad to know you guys aren't trying to get rid of me yet."

Newkirk chuckled faintly.

"Get _rid_ of yah, sir. Yah gotta a whole lot of work to do to get that to happen, then."

The American nodded and sighed lightly. He began to frown.

"What's wrong, Colonel?" The Englishman asked, worried.

"Oh, nothing...just tired is all."

"You sure?"

Hogan nodded again.

"I'm sure." He thought to himself for a brief moment and spoke again. "Newkirk, are you feeling alright? You seem a bit... _anxious_."

Newkirk stiffened a bit and shrugged his shoulders to try and hide it.

"Just a little shook up over Schneider's death still. We weren't expecting such a thing, sir."

"Certainly unexpected."

There was an awkward silence between the two of them, then Newkirk spoke again.

"I just wanted to check on yah, sir. Louis said lunch will be done in about an hour. Anything specific you want?"

"Whatever LeBeau's got on the menu will do for me. Are you sure you're alright, Newkirk?"

"Fine as rain, Colonel. Talk to yah later." Without another word, the Englishman left Hogan's room and closed the door.

The colonel sat there for a long moment lost in his thoughts. Newkirk seemed a bit uneasy when he had asked if anything was wrong. Perhaps it was just as he said; that he was shook up over the old Gestapo officer's sudden demise. Hogan was sure it was otherwise, however. Something seemed off about his English friend. His regular spark and cocky attitude seemed more reserved than usual. Instead of being the brash, confident corporal he was well known for, he now seemed uneasy, a bit timid, and jumpy at some points. Newkirk had acted differently ever since the night their assignment had gone wrong, but he could not recall why. He remembered getting there, Newkirk setting the bombs, leaving and hearing a beeping while doing so...after that it was all a blur to him. There were short snippets he recalled, but they were foggy and unclear to him. He remembered Newkirk begging him to hold on and hang in there. He recalled searing pain in his belly and chest, but nothing more. He also wondered what had happened to their contact, Rotes. He had not heard a single thing regarding him since waking up in the hospital. Had he run off? Was he killed in the explosion? Was he hurt badly? He did not know the answers, but he intended to find out.

Hogan was about to pick up his book and continue reading, when his eyes began to feel heavy. Not able to fight his sleepiness, Hogan set his book aside on his footlocker, crawled under the covers, and placed his hands on his middle. Soon enough, he drifted off into a peaceful slumber and slept for the rest of the day.

* * *

The next time Hogan woke up, it was almost 7:30 in the evening. He stretched out his body and yawned, then he looked around his room for something to do. He rose slowly from his bed and wrapped his light blue bathrobe around him and tied it, mindful of his stitches and scars from his injuries and operations. After slipping on his slippers, Hogan made his way slowly to his desk while trying to steady himself. His legs were still weak from little use and felt light headed whenever he rose and started to walk. Just the walk from his bed to his desk made him want to go back to sleep.

Once he finally arrived to his desk, he turned on his lamp light and started flipping through papers. Finding an unfinished letter to his mom and dad, he smiled and grabbed a pencil. He put the piece of paper in front of him and began to write.

* * *

Kinch, Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau stood outside Hogan's bedroom door, all hesitant of knocking. The time had come for the four of them to tell their commanding officer what was going on with Newkirk and the rest of what happened the night he had been hurt from the explosion.

The English corporal took his fist and was about to knock, when he stopped and stepped back from the door. He turned to look at his three friends, anxiety written clear all over his face.

"I can't do it, mates," he said, shaky.

"What do you mean 'you can't do it'?!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"We tell the Gov'nor what's going on, and I'll give the poor man a heart attack!"

"Just knock on the door and go in!"

"If it's so easy, do it _yourself_!"

"Alright, enough!" Kinch ordered, barging through to the front with Newkirk. "You two keep this up, and Newkirk will be a schizophrenic before we even _tell_ the Colonel!"

"No...I don't wanna become schizophrenic, Kinch!" The Englishman begged.

"You're not _gonna_ become schizophrenic. Now all of you calm down. We don't need all this extra energy with the Colonel so ill."

Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter hung their heads and frowned.

"Yes, Kinch," they said, in unison.

The staff sergeant looked at them for a moment longer, then knocked on Hogan's door.

"Come in," a tired, yet chipper voice said.

Kinch opened the door and allowed his friends to enter in before he himself followed behind and closed the door. Kinch leaned against the door, Carter and LeBeau sat down on Hogan's bottom bunk, and Newkirk leaned against the support beam of the bunk bed closest to the door. The Englishman's anxiety was spiking up to an all time high and started rapidly looking around the room.

Hogan turned to them and looked at his men with worry in his eyes.

"You guys okay? Look like something's on your minds," he said, sincere.

"Colonel, we gotta talk to you...and it's not the happiest of topics." Kinch answered, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

Hogan turned his chair to face all four of them, folded his hands on his middle, and looked them straight in the eye, giving them his undivided attention.

"I'm listening," was all he said.

Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau all turned to look at Newkirk like he was the designated speaker. It did not help the poor man's nerves ease. He started shaking hard, his eyes darted back and forth, and eventually started clenching his eyes shut and grabbed his hair.

Kinch walked over and patted his shoulder.

"You want me to tell him?" He asked softly.

" _Please_." Newkirk quivered.

Kinch nodded and turned to look at his commanding officer.

"Colonel...you remember the night you were hurt?" He began.

"Some parts barely and others clearly. Why?" Hogan answered.

"Colonel...that night...you weren't the only one injured. Newkirk was hurt, too."

The American officer nodded.

"That explains that scar on his forehead," he said, looking at the left of Newkirk's head.

"There are other parts of his body." Kinch turned to his friend and nodded.

The Englishman lifted his right pant leg and exposed a healing scar and bruising surrounding it on his shin.

Hogan's eyes grew slightly in size seeing his corporal's injury.

"That had to be some piece of shrapnel to cause such an injury." He remarked, surprised.

"There's still one injury yah haven't seen, sir," Newkirk said softly. He slowly lifted his left hand and showed it to his commanding officer.

Hogan gaped at what he saw. A mangled hand with several angry scars consuming it. Some parts looked thicker than others. He assumed those thicker areas had been affected by whatever had caused Newkirk's extremities.

"Newkirk," he gasped. "...what happened?"

"Me hand was burned severely in the explosion, Gov'nor...Richard and Wilson said I had a severe second degree burn. Had the burn gone any further, and it would have been a third degree burn…" He stopped and started trembling. Now came for the burden he bared. The sin he would have to carry with him for the rest of his life. Without any kind of control, Newkirk fell to the ground and leaned over Hogan's feet. He started weeping softly. "I'm sorry, Gov'nor...I'm sorry, sir! I didn't mean to do it. It was an accident, I _swear_ , sir!"

"Newkirk, I'm not mad. It wasn't your fault. It was an accident. The main thing is we're alright."

Carter and LeBeau stiffened and swallowed hard. Their faces grew with panic and shot their glances to the Englishman.

Newkirk started screaming through his tears.

"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it! Colonel, I didn't mean to do it! NO!" He screeched.

Hogan's face paled and had trouble breathing for a brief moment. Once he controlled his breathing, he turned to Kinch for an explanation. No words were needed to say his thought.

"Rotes didn't make it, sir. The explosion killed him instantly," he said sadly.

The colonel shook his head slowly, then hung it and closed his eyes.

"Rotes…" was all he could get out. "How?"

Kinch hesitated before answering.

"His body was blown up."

Hogan shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. No wonder Newkirk was acting so strange. After what he saw that night, he would have acted the same as his corporal did now before him.

"There's more, Colonel," LeBeau said softly.

"Oh, this just gets better and better, doesn't it?" The American officer answered sardonically.

Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau turned to one another, then back at Hogan. Their expressions were pained.

"Colonel...Newkirk's sick," Kinch barely said.

"Sick with what?" Hogan asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

Finally calming himself, Newkirk sat up on the floor, wiped his face, and slowly got to his feet. He shook and had LeBeau's assistance to stand up for a brief moment. Once stable, both turned to look at Kinch for him to continue.

The radioman was silent for a brief moment before doing so.

"Wilson assumes psychotic disorder."

The colonel turned slowly in his spinning chair towards Newkirk and looked at him carefully. He could tell something was gravely wrong with his English corporal.

Newkirk's eyes were disconnected from life. They held no life and no light within them. His skin a pasty white from its usual color, his dark brown hair nearly black and draining all of the life left within him. He seemed to be managing with keeping himself together, and yet, he seemed like he was about to go mad.

Hogan's face went from sad to depressed within a matter of seconds. He turned back to his second in command drained and helpless.

"How bad is it?" He asked, just barely above a whisper.

Kinch fell silent briefly.

"...it's not good, Colonel. I'll be honest with you, sir...Newkirk is beginning to develop schizophrenic symptoms. Joe and Richard don't think he has much time left. If we can't find a trained medic soon...Newkirk's gonna suffer from schizophrenia...or worse."

The colonel closed his eyes and hung his head. He let out a heavy and shaky breath, then he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, Newkirk…" Hogan let out meekly. He turned to look at his English corporal again and held deep sympathy and heartache in his eyes. He had thought after having his heart operated on would rid him of the pain he felt from his injuries. Sadly, a new wound had been made. And it hurt even worse than the last one.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21:**

The news had hit Hogan hard. The colonel had gone to bed very early that night. He had grown lost in his thoughts and deeply saddened knowing the fact that Newkirk was growing ill and did not have much time left before his mental stability would become critical.

Early the next morning, Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau were gathered around the table with cups of coffee. Newkirk had left shortly before to take a walk around the camp and try to gather his thoughts and figure out what to do next with his road to recovery. It did not help his case knowing that certain people, objects, and words set him off. It had become increasingly worse now that he was not even _aware_ of when his mental outbreaks occurring. In fact, the last few the Englishman had had, he recalled little to nothing about them. He was socializing and talking with his friends one minute, and the next thing he knew, he was in a new position, a different area with his muscles tightened, adrenaline pumping fiercely through his blood, and his thoughts running at 100 miles a minute.

The three of Newkirk's friends were silent, not knowing what to do next with their British confidant. They all knew that Newkirk needed psychiatric help now, or it would be too late to do anything for him. He would go into a catatonic state and the chances of him recovering from it would be little to none. Newkirk would possibly live the rest of his life in darkness, in fear, hallucinating and believing horrific images and sounds that no human being should be blessed to experience. They needed to act, and they needed to do so quickly.

"Heard anything from General Berkman, _mon ami_?" LeBeau asked, wanting a break from the sheer silence.

Kinch sighed and shook his head.

"General Berkman's having as much luck as we are here. Every psychologist he knows of as of now is either currently located somewhere else treating fallen soldiers or have been brainwashed by the Nazis and using their means of treatment for other uses now."

Carter fidgeted with his hands and fought back tears burning in his eyes.

"There's gotta be _someone_ that can help Newkirk... _anybody_ , Kinch," he stated.

"I wish I could tell you otherwise, Carter...but it doesn't look too good for our English friend as of now." The staff sergeant took his hand and gently rubbed his young friend's back. He hated seeing Carter have to suffer from such a terrible loss. The thought of knowing you may possibly lose a loved one was something none of them wished to ever face straight in the eye.

LeBeau frowned and propped his chin up with his fist.

"Looks like we _can't_ save Pierre this time... _c'est terrible_ ," he softly said.

"No! I _refuse_ to believe Newkirk's a goner! I'm not gonna quit hoping until we've searched every possible area for psychiatric help for him!" Carter cried, shooting up from his spot. Kinch pulled him down gently shortly afterwards.

"There aren't many more places we can look, kid: London, Paris, Belgium, Switzerland, Scotland...the whole western side of Europe has turned up with nothing," The radioman coaxed.

"I'm sure there's _hundreds_ of psychiatric doctors back home in the States!"

"And we don't have enough time to search every state, André. Pierre will be gone by the time we found someone." LeBeau answered.

"We'll lose him if we don't do _something_! There's gotta be someone out there! There's just _gotta_ be, Kinch! We can't give up on Newkirk, _please_ , Kinch!" The young sergeant begged.

The sergeant in question licked his lips while trying to think of what he could say to satisfy his friend. Reality at that point was that Newkirk's ailment would progress too far and would have to be sent back to London to be treated as much as possible. That he would be locked up in some psych ward or insane asylum for God knew how long. Weeks? Months? Years? _Eternity_? At the same time, he did not want to devastate the young man about his best friend. Newkirk was important to them. He was their teammate, their _friend_. Losing him would be like losing a part of themselves. The cocky, lighthearted corporal made their friend group and team complete. He brought several traits to the table that were irreplaceable, and Kinch did not want to give up just yet on him.

He was about to answer, when the door to the small room in the corner opened, and Hogan quietly made his way out to them. He used a cane to help his shakiness when walking and found it highly irritating, but at least it was a step up from having an escort help him get around. He was wearing his slippers, red pajama bottoms and button up shirt that was red satin with a tiny design on the fabric, and a long, soft cotton bathrobe that was baby blue and went down to about his shins.

The American officer looked at his men and saw the expressions on their face. He did not need to ask to know what was bothering them.

Kinch finally noticed their commanding officer and helped him to sit down in his usual spot, then poured him a small cup of coffee. Once Hogan reassured him he was comfy, he sat back down beside Carter, and the three of them turned to their commander for encouragement. Support. Words of wisdom. If they never needed Hogan more than ever, it was now.

"Colonel," Carter quivered. "Please don't let Newkirk get sick...I don't _wanna_ lose him, sir."

Hogan turned to look at his youngest member with sympathy in his eyes.

"Don't worry, Carter. I'm gonna do everything I can for Newkirk," he said, sincere.

"Colonel, what do we do? We can't find a doctor _anywhere_ for Pierre. _Il est comme essayer de trouver une aiguille dans une botte de foin_!" LeBeau moaned. (1)

"I don't know what you said, LeBeau, but I can tell already I didn't like the sound of it," the American officer said tiredly. Hogan sighed softly and continued. "I never thought I'd have to do this, but it looks like we're left with no other choice. There isn't a _chance_ of Newkirk getting through this otherwise."

"What do you mean, sir?" Kinch asked.

"I mean we need to find a psychologist and quickly...lucky for you boys, I know just the one," Hogan said, taking a drink of coffee.

"Who?!" Carter cried.

"Colonel, you know someone!" LeBeau hoped.

Hogan gave a small smile.

"Someone that's close by." He answered.

"Do we know them?" Kinch asked, puzzled.

"You sure do. Quite well, actually," Hogan said, and took another drink of coffee.

"Who is it, Colonel?" LeBeau asked.

The American officer set his cup down on the table and was giving a fatigued grin. He looked at all three of his men and was silent for a brief moment before he answered.

"Me."

"YOU?!" Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau all cried.

Hogan nodded.

"You're a psychologist?" The little Frenchman exclaimed.

"Well, I'm not a full time one. Back in London when the war first started, part of my time I worked in a hospital and visited air force soldiers and officers who returned from battles or being held somewhere in Germany. I helped them cope with what they had been through and seen and happily, most of my cases were successful in their recovery." The colonel told them.

"Golly! I didn't know you were a psychologist, boy! I mean Sir," Carter said quickly, embarrassed of his mistake.

Hogan simply smiled in response.

"I didn't think the subject would ever come up."

"You're Newkirk's only fighting chance, Colonel," Kinch said urgently.

"You must help him, Colonel! We don't know what to do for him anymore." LeBeau added.

"Can you help him, sir?" Carter asked, worried.

"I'll do what I can. I've gotta get Newkirk to open up more on what happened that night and what it's making him think." Hogan answered.

"That won't be easy, sir," Kinch said, crossing his arms. "It took us nearly two weeks to get him to finally open up and tell us."

"Hey! We know what happened to Newkirk that night? Why don't we just tell him what happened?" Carter asked, thinking it was a good idea.

Hogan shook his head softly.

"No, it needs to come from Newkirk. He's gotta tell me himself. Venting is only the first step."

"What else is there?" Carter replied, intrigued.

LeBeau turned to the young sergeant and rolled his eyes.

"I'll say it for Pierre. André, shut it."

Carter hung his head and looked at his shoes.

"Just curious was all," was his response.

Hogan scanned around the area, then he returned his attention to the three men before him and raised an eyebrow.

"Where is Newkirk anyways?" He asked, suddenly curious.

"He went outside for a walk, sir," Kinch said.

"Said he needed to clear his mind of thoughts." Carter added.

The officer nodded softly.

"Have him report to me the minute he comes back in, will yah?" Hogan asked.

"Sure thing, Colonel." Kinch answered.

"Good," was Hogan's response. "If Newkirk's going to get better before turmoil, we need to take action immediately."

* * *

(1) _Il est comme essayer de trouver une aiguille dans une botte de_ _foin_ \- It is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22:**

About three hours later, a very uneasy Newkirk made his way into Hogan's room and sat down on the bottom bunk. The commanding officer himself turned from the work at his desk he was doing and made his attention all on his English corporal.

Just looking at Newkirk made his heart ache. He looked worse than before. He was losing weight, slightly shaking even while resting, and Hogan could have sworn he saw a few gray hairs growing in the Englishman's hair.

Hogan swallowed his emotional aching and got back to his task. Newkirk needed his help and now more than ever. It was up to him now to help his friend get the medical care he needed to recover from his mental trauma, and he would not fail one of his men. Not now, not before, not _ever_.

"Newkirk," he began, feigning a smile. "How are you doing?"

The corporal shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"I'm alright, sir. Doing as well as can be." He stopped and looked down at the floor. He seemed troubled being in Hogan's presence. Newkirk lifted his head and looked into Hogan's eyes with a worry filled expression. "Colonel...did I do something wrong?"

"No, you've done nothing wrong," the American said, with a faint smile.

"Then, if you don't mind me asking, sir...what _am_ I in here for?"

Hogan crossed his legs and put a hand on his belly, making himself comfortable in his desk chair. Even in his pajamas and bathrobe, the corporal before him thought he looked professional.

"Newkirk, would you believe me if I told you I was a psychologist back in London?" Hogan began.

"Cor! _You_ , Colonel?! A shrink?!" The Englishman gasped.

"A fairly good one at it, too." He continued.

"Blimey! How come yah never told us, sir? Do me mates know of this?!"

"LeBeau, Carter, and Kinch know about this. I told them earlier this morning while you were out on your little stroll to clear your thoughts. Did it help any?"

The man in question shook his head.

"No...they just keep swimming around in me mind, sir...they just don't leave me alone, Gov'nor."

Hogan nodded, understanding.

"Newkirk, when did you start having these, uh... _episodes_ of…" Hogan was cut off.

"Insanity?"

"Well, I was going to say 'psychosis', but…" the colonel trailed off briefly before speaking again, a bit irritated. "Would you just answer the question?"

Newkirk rubbed the back of his neck before answering.

"Boy, Gov'nor...it's hard to remember, sir," he started. "I was told by Richard when I woke up the next morning in the hospital that I had a bloody nightmare during the middle of the night...shortly after I went in for surgery I was told."

Hogan nodded, giving Newkirk every ounce of his attention.

"What happened after that?" He asked.

"I was brought home here, sir. That's when... _they_ started happening." The last part Newkirk said so softly, Hogan barely heard him.

" _They_ ," he replied. "As in your hallucinations?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you mind me asking what it is you see in these hallucinations?"

Newkirk shuddered noticeably and shook his head hard.

"No, Gov'nor...don't make me go back there...don't make me go back there, Colonel!" He pleaded.

Hogan looked at his friend with deep empathy. He felt horrible seeing Newkirk suffer from such terror, such fear. Sure, Hogan had experienced moments in time where he was shaken and anxious. Heck, he even had a worst fear: the loss of those around him he cared about most. But never in his life had he _ever_ gone through what he was witnessing his dear companion go through. Newkirk was living in a world full of darkness, evil, and pure fear that was feeding on him. The American had been lucky to be spared such mental anguish.

"I'm sorry, Newkirk," Hogan said softly. "But you have to tell me what happened that night. It's the only way you're gonna fight this thing and win."

"Colonel, I...I, I...I _can't_! I'll go bloody mad! I'll try killing you like Kinch keeps saying I try to do in these... _snaps_!"

Hogan gave a friendly, soft smile.

"Don't worry, Newkirk. I'll be fine." The colonel turned to his door. "Kinch! LeBeau! Can you come in here for a minute?"

The door opened, and Kinch and LeBeau entered. They closed the door behind them and looked at their commanding officer confused.

"You alright, _mon Colonel_?" LeBeau asked, worried.

"I'm just fine, LeBeau. You two just stand there and listen to my orders when I say so," the American officer said, firm.

"Yes, sir," Kinch said sincerely.

Hogan nodded and turned back to his patient.

"Whenever you're ready, Newkirk," he said calmly.

The Englishman again shuddered, swallowed a growing lump in his throat, and began.

"I finished setting the bombs, sir...I was returning to you and Rotes, and we were about to leave until we heard that beeping noise...Rotes started turning around and went to go check the bombs…" Newkirk was starting to break down. Tears were filling in his eyes, but he would make all efforts to hold back from crying. "I woke up to a searing pain in me leg, something wet dripping down me forehead, and me hand hurt like bloody hell. I saw me injuries and after somehow managing to get to me feet, I started looking for you...I tripped and nearly fell again...I looked down to see what it was…" He cringed and shook his head. " _Please_ , Gov'nor! Don't make me go back there! _Please_ , Colonel, _please_!"

"You gotta keep going, Newkirk...you're alright. Kinch, LeBeau, and I are all here with you...all safe in Stalag 13," Hogan said, with empathy.

Newkirk opened his eyes, turned his head to the ceiling, and clenched his eyes again. He looked like as if remembering that night caused him physical pain.

"Rotes...body...he was everywhere…"

Hogan's jaw dropped. He could not believe what he was hearing. Newkirk had seen Rotes's body...blown to pieces?!

"You saw Rotes... _severed_?!" He gasped, astonished.

Newkirk could not take it anymore. The images, the sounds, the screams for help that haunted him...it had become too much for him to handle.

"No...no...NO!" He shrieked. Newkirk fell flat on his back onto Hogan's bunk and started crying out bloody murder. "COLONEL! COLONEL! COLONEL, WAKE UP! COLONEL!"

The officer being yelled out for turned quickly to Kinch and LeBeau with a serious expression on his face.

"Kinch, hold his arms down. LeBeau, do the same for his legs, and do it quickly! He'll soon enter into one of his psychosis episodes. And whatever you do, do _not_ tell him who you are," Hogan ordered.

" _Oui, Colonel_!" LeBeau remarked.

"Got it, Colonel," Kinch said.

Both of Hogan's men hurried to their friend and as instructed, Kinch pinned Newkirk's arms down, and LeBeau did the same with his legs. The little Frenchman had been grateful that Kinch had been picked to hold down Newkirk's arms. The once golden glove champ had more muscle strength than LeBeau would ever have. If anyone could hold down the Englishman firmly, the staff sergeant was the man for the job.

After a few more fits of screaming and crying out for Hogan, Newkirk's eyes flashed open and flickered with intense fury and pure hatred. His eyes blazed into Kinch and LeBeau's inner being.

"Get your hands off of me, yah bastard, dirty Kraut!" He hissed.

"Newkirk, you're back in Stalag 13. You're safe now," Kinch said softly.

"LIAR!" The Englishman hollered.

"He's telling you the truth!" The little Frenchman pleaded. "You are in the Colonel's room."

"You leave the Gov'nor out of this! Lay a single hand on Colonel Hogan, and you die! YAH HEAR ME?! I'LL KILL YAH!" Newkirk barked.

Hogan slowly got to his feet, cautious of his symptoms of being lightheaded and shaky legs, and made his way slowly to his bottom bunk. He sat down on his foot locker and started consoling his English friend.

"I'm right here, Newkirk."

"Colonel? Where are yah? Where are you, sir?" The Englishman asked frantically.

"I'm right next to you. Newkirk, I need you to close your eyes for me. Close them and hold your breath for three seconds, then let it out slowly."

The English corporal closed his eyes and took in a shaky breath, held it, then let it out just as shaky.

"Keep doing that until you feel your body relax." Hogan coaxed.

Newkirk repeated the process about seven times and finally felt his muscles loosen, his stomach ease, and nerves cool down.

Hogan smiled softly and continued.

"Now whenever you're ready, open your eyes slowly."

After laying there for a minute silently, Newkirk tediously opened his eyes. Once they were, he scanned his surroundings and saw he was lying comfortably on his commander's bed, and Kinch, LeBeau, and Hogan were all sitting around him. None of them said a word and waited for him to speak. He swallowed a knot in his throat and turned towards Hogan.

"Colonel?" He croaked.

"Hi there," Hogan said, smiling.

Newkirk turned to look at Kinch and LeBeau, then back at his commanding officer again.

"I heard you...Colonel, I heard you."

"Good. Means you haven't completely lost connection with reality yet."

Newkirk turned his head towards the top of Hogan's bunk and started sobbing a little.

"Colonel...make 'em go away. Make 'em go away, please!"

"Who go away?"

"The Gestapo officers," Newkirk said, sitting up. "I didn't even _deal_ with any of them the night we were injured, so why do I keep seeing me mates as them in these cracker phases?!"

"If I had to guess, it's that one of your fears may be Hochstetter and the Gestapo, true?" Hogan began, crossing his legs.

"You could say that, yeah."

"So, your subconscious is so terrified of that night or b…" Hogan stopped, when he saw Kinch and LeBeau make hand and mouth gestures telling him not to finish the word. Something told the colonel that whatever happened after hearing the word 'bomb' would set Newkirk off on a wild rampage. "You know...your mind has created these physical forms of human beings representing that night and your fear. Because of your fear of the Gestapo as well, your brain made up these Gestapo men and are now what you hallucinate during your breakdowns of psychosis."

"Why didn't _I_ think of that?" LeBeau exclaimed.

"Because you're not a psychologist." Kinch answered. In return, he received a glare from his little friend.

"How do I get rid of 'em? I can't take it anymore, Gov'nor! I'm going bleedin' mad!" Newkirk cried.

"You're not going to go mad. I promise," Hogan said, soothing. "We're gonna get through this. It's just going to take a little bit of time."

"How _long_ of time?"

"I don't know. That's all up to you, Newkirk."

* * *

For the next few days after Hogan had taken his prescribed naps, he gave Newkirk regular therapy sessions. The breathing technique seemed to be helping his psychosis episodes and end them quicker, but he had yet to manage hearing and talking about that night and bombs without snapping into those mental states.

Hogan went back into his mind to all his knowledge in psychology he had ever learned, remembered all the patients he dealt with back in London that were suffering the same thing Newkirk was dealing with now, and tried putting all of it together to think of a treatment that would help his dear friend get over his fear and be able to move on in life. He could not have a member of his team begin to panic and snap into a psychotic state during an assignment. Newkirk had to get over this, or he would have to be sent back to London for better medical care, and Hogan would be forced to find a new member that could carry out his Englishman's tasks. He would not let that happen. He _couldn't_ let that happen. If he failed Newkirk, it would destroy him as an officer and friend.

The British corporal himself sat out in the common area playing solitaire with himself, and Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau were down in the tunnels working on an upcoming assignment from London. Because of his current mental condition, Newkirk had been banned from missions of all kinds. Even ones that did not involve going outside the wire. Irritated as he was, he understood why it was necessary. If something were to happen to his friends because he could not handle the situation but to have an episode in front of a German, Newkirk would never forgive himself. In fact, it would probably only worsen his mental illness.

The fake bunk opened, and Carter made his way out from the tunnels. He slapped the hidden mechanism to close the entrance and sat down beside his best friend.

"How are you feeling, buddy?" The younger sergeant asked sincerely.

"Bloody swell." Newkirk hissed, and slammed another card down on the table.

"I'm sorry you can't help with the assignment, buddy, but Colonel Hogan's right. We can't risk you having a meltdown outside of camp," Carter said, with empathy.

"Bring me up one of those things your working on, Andrew. I'm getting rid of this thing once and for all."

Carter shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I don't know, buddy. I don't think that's a good idea. What if you can't handle it and snap?"

"Then bring me a bloody prototype!"

Carter rubbed the back of his neck.

"What about one of the blueprints for the prototype," he suggested.

"I don't _care_ what it is, just get it up here!" Newkirk snapped. His eyes were starting to fog over and lose connection with reality, yet there was fire burning within them. The Englishman looked like he had gone insane.

The young sergeant jumped from his seat into standing position.

"Right away, Newkirk!" He yelped.

The young sergeant hurried towards the fake bunk, when it opened, and Kinch and LeBeau made their way out. When they spotted Carter and his frantic look, they paused.

"What's wrong?" Kinch asked, worried.

"Newkirk wants to see one of the blueprints for the...you know what." The last part Carter said quietly.

"Are you crazy?!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"Carter, you'll make him blind mad!" Kinch added.

"He's going into one of those states _not_ seeing them! What do we do?!" Carter cried, panicking.

"We gotta tell the Colonel," Kinch said quickly.

As if on cue, Hogan made his way shaking out of his quarters and into the common area. The colonel did not look too well. A little pale and tired for usual, but it did not look too concerning. It was probably just from all the medicine he was on. He got as far as a little past the stove, when he took a sharp breath in, and his left hand clutched his belly.

The three men near the fake bunk turned to Hogan, and their eyes grew with worry.

"Colonel, are you alright?" LeBeau asked.

He gasped for air and attempted to try and say 'Joe', but no words could escape from him. The colonel could no longer breathe. Hogan's eyes rolled back and collapsed to the ground.

"COLONEL!" All four of them shrieked.

Kinch and Newkirk ran towards Hogan and knelt down beside him, LeBeau stood behind Kinch, and Carter behind Newkirk.

"Get Joe, Carter! _NOW_!" Kinch yelled, not able to hide the panic in his voice.

"Yes, Kinch!" The young sergeant sprang out the door and slammed it behind him.

The staff sergeant leaned forward and felt for a pulse on his commanding officer. There was none.

"He doesn't have a pulse." Kinch reported, anxious.

"He's not breathing, either." Newkirk reported back.

"What do we do?!" LeBeau cried, fighting back his tears.

"Hold on, Colonel. Don't die now, Colonel, please!" Kinch begged.

Newkirk froze in place, and his eyes looked vacant.

"Damn it, Newkirk! Don't do this now!" The leading sergeant hissed, trying to hold back the fear in his voice.

It looked like the Englishman was about to break all through hell and have the worst outbreak of all, when he closed his eyes and shook his head hard. His eyes snapped open and glared out at the man before him.

"Out of the way," Newkirk ordered harshly.

"What?" Kinch asked, confused.

"Get out of the way, mate! Yah want him to die or not?!"

The radioman got to his feet and made his way over to LeBeau, who was now shaking. Kinch wrapped an arm around him, and both men watched in horror wondering what Newkirk was up to.

The Englishman made his way to Hogan's left hip and turned to face him. He took his hands and clasped one over the other, then he hovered them over his commanding officer's chest. Fear and prayer glinted from his wet, green eyes.

"Come on, Colonel. Don't die on me, sir." He begged to himself and began chest compressions.

"Wake up, Colonel. Come on, _mon Colonel_." LeBeau whimpered.

After thirty of the chest compressions, Newkirk tilted Hogan's head back, closed his nostrils, and breathed into Hogan's mouth twice with four seconds of break in between. He clasped his hands and continued the same procedure again.

"Come on, Andrew. Where are you with Joe?" Kinch asked, shaky. He continued to rub LeBeau's shoulder and console the little man, who was on the verge of tears.

The door slammed open, and Carter and Wilson sprinted in quickly. Carter went to stand on the other side of Kinch, and Wilson knelt down on the right side of Hogan and watched Newkirk performing CPR.

"How's he doing, Newkirk?" Wilson asked, anxious.

After the Englishman gave Hogan two breaths of air, checked and found nothing, he went back to giving chest compressions and answered the camp medic.

"He's not breathing and there's no pulse. This is about the third time I've started chest compressions."

"Keep going. I'll tell you when to stop."

"Colonel." Carter quivered. Tears were streaming down his face.

Newkirk had started his fifth round of chest compressions, when Hogan's eyes opened, took a huge gulp of air, and started coughing viciously. The British corporal let out a huge breath of air he had not realized he was holding.

"Thank God," he said softly.

Wilson automatically started checking the colonel's vitals and asking him questions.

Carter shot down to the ground on Hogan's right and grabbed his hand in his.

"Colonel, you're okay!" He cheered.

Hogan smiled faintly.

"Pierre, you saved _mon Colonel_!" LeBeau cried, beaming.

"The one health class I attended turned out to be useful." Newkirk sighed heavily.

"What happened, Joe? I thought the Colonel was in the clear," Kinch said, interested.

"A severe case of cardiac arrhythmia that caused a brief cardiac arrest. Rare, but a known side effect of open heart surgery." Wilson turned to Hogan. "I'd like to keep you in the infirmary for a few days and have Prudhomme come out and take a look at yah, sir. Possibly put you on some different medicine to prevent another one of these incidents."

The American officer simply sighed and closed his eyes. He was too worn to argue. In fact, Hogan wondered if he would ever feel the same again. Or would he be like this for the rest of his life?

"Wait a minute," LeBeau said. He turned to Newkirk. "Pierre, you didn't have an outbreak."

"I didn't, did I," the Englishman stated, stunned.

"Does that mean you're cured?" Carter asked, hopeful.

Newkirk turned to look at the camp medic with pleading eyes.

"Possibly," Wilson said. "I don't know for certain, though."

"How _will_ we know, Joe?! I don't wanna go bloody crackers!" Newkirk cried.

"Exposure." Hogan murmured.

All five men turned to him and tried understanding what he was saying.

"What, Colonel?" Kinch asked softly.

Hogan swallowed and spoke raspy again.

"Exposure."

Newkirk hung and shook his head.

"I don't know what that means, but I have a feeling I'm not gonna like it." He grumbled.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** Well, this is it, folks! The last chapter of my story! Don't be sad, though! I have many more projects planned ahead for the near future. ;) So be on the lookout. With that being said, I hope you enjoy the ending to 'Hogan's Heroes: A Memory Lost In Darkness'. Enjoy! Leave reviews and comments!

* * *

 **Chapter 23:**

After being switched to different medications, Hogan began to respond quickly and was starting to feel less fatigue and shakiness. He was kept in the infirmary for about four days before returning to rest in his barracks.

Another few weeks went by, and Hogan was able to start little activity again. He had yet to gain the strength of leading the operation and completing assignments again, but had regained his position as Senior POW and partook in minor athletic activity to lose some of the excess weight he had gained.

Newkirk sat at the table in the common area surrounded by his friends and turned to look at Carter slightly anxious. The young sergeant returned the same look and turned to look at Kinch, who was standing behind the Englishman.

The staff sergeant nodded softly, giving Carter the 'go ahead'.

"You ready, Pierre?" LeBeau asked, standing next to Hogan. The American had his arm wrapped around the little Frenchman.

Newkirk shuddered a little, closed his eyes, then nodded.

"Go ahead with it already, Andrew." He croaked.

At first, he hesitated, but Carter eventually brought out one of his bombs from his pocket and slowly set it in front of Newkirk.

The Englishman swallowed a huge knot in his throat and began trembling. There, laying in front of him, was the thing that had started this mess in the first place: a bomb, which he had been assigned to set to the right time to blow up the munitions site. The bomb he made kill...no. He was not the one that killed Rotes. He set it to the wrong time on accident. He did not do it on purpose. He _saved_ lives, not ended them. He had saved Hogan from dying. He had saved several innocent lives and gotten them to London and safety. So why was he still so terrified?

"...Gov'nor…" was all he got out of his dry mouth. Newkirk continued shivering.

"Come on, Newkirk. You can do it," Hogan said softly.

LeBeau was looking on in suspense, Carter was closing his eyes and saying a silent prayer, and Kinch had his arms behind his back and crossing his fingers.

The Englishman moved his hand out to try and touch it, but brought it back halfway and continued to stare at the object before him in horror.

"Come on, Pierre." LeBeau whispered.

"You can do it, Peter," Kinch said.

"You got this, buddy." Carter encouraged.

Newkirk wiggled the fingers on his scarred hand, wondering to himself if he should go for it. He put his hand to his chin and thought for a long moment. His fingers again began to wiggle, yearning to grab the bomb and hold it in his hands. He craved to end this fear he had. He wanted to help on assignments again. He wanted to assist his friends with sewing Gestapo uniforms again. He wanted to prove to Hogan that he could handle it again. He wanted to prove to _himself_ he could handle it again.

On impulse, Newkirk reached out slowly and with his eyes closed, grabbed onto the bomb and brought it towards him. He was by that point shaking so hard, his friends were worried he would cause himself to have a seizure. After a little longer, Newkirk opened one eye slowly and saw that the bomb had still remained stable in his hands. Just as slowly, he opened his other eye and stared at the thing within his grasp.

There it sat. His current fear, sitting right in the palms of his hands. The little bomb that could cause such a mass destruction sitting calmly and not harming anyone.

Newkirk stared at it a little longer, and his eyes gaped in realization. He was holding a bomb. Nothing lethal had happened. He stopped shaking...the fear was gone.

"It's gone," he said faintly. Newkirk turned to look at his four friends, grinning from ear to ear. "My fear, sir. It's gone!"

Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau all started cheering. Hogan simply gave a proud smile.

"You did it, buddy!" Carter cheered.

"I _knew_ you would pull through, Pierre! I never doubted you for a _second_!" LeBeau added.

"That a boy, Newkirk," Kinch said, slapping his English friend's shoulder.

"Blimey, Kinch! Not so bloody hard!" The Englishman cried, taking his right hand and rubbing his left shoulder.

Hogan chuckled, then gently patted Newkirk's right shoulder.

"Congrats, Newkirk. I'm proud of you," he said sincerely.

"You are, sir?"

"I am."

The British corporal blushed and turned to look at the table again.

"Sir, you're embarrassing me." He grumbled, with a soft smile.

The five of them sat down at the table and continued giving Newkirk their congratulations. Their toughest battle yet was over. They had won.

* * *

"Message from London, Colonel," Kinch said, climbing up from the tunnels.

Hogan looked up from reading his book at the table.

Three months had gone by, and Hogan had made a quick and complete recovery. He was back on his feet and once again in charge of the operation and living his life as usual.

After taking a drink of coffee, he rose from his spot and approached his second in command still holding his coffee cup.

"What's it say, Kinch?" Hogan asked, curious.

"There's a power plant being built a few miles down the road from here. London wants us to get rid of it before it has a chance to start production, and it's guarded head to toe with Gestapo."

Hogan sighed heavily and took another drink of coffee.

"You better get the guys. This job sounds like a five person detail," he said.

"Get the guys for what, Colonel?" Carter asked, popping out from the tunnel entrance.

Hogan and Kinch turned to look at the young sergeant confused.

"Carter, what are you doing down there? I thought you were outside." Kinch wondered, crossing his arms.

"Playing hide and seek with Louis. I can't find him, though."

As if on cue, LeBeau popped up beside the sergeant searching for him.

"I was hiding behind the ladder the whole time, _mon ami_. What better place to hide then in the open?" The little Frenchman asked.

The four men turned to the door and saw Newkirk walk in with wet hair and trying to dry it with a towel. He had just come back from his shower.

"What's going on, Gov'nor?" He asked, concerned.

Hogan turned to look at all of his men.

"There's a new power plant being built near the camp. London wants us to sabotage it before it gets a chance to go into production," he said, firm.

"Oh boy, do I have some beauties down here, Colonel!" Carter started making explosion sounds and getting wrapped up in his prides and joy.

"The only beauty you'll have in a minute is a black eye if yah keep making those noises." Newkirk growled.

The young sergeant sighed and hung his head.

Hogan could not help but chuckle softly. He turned to his English corporal.

"Newkirk, you up to being a highly important Gestapo general?" He asked.

Newkirk stood straight and tall.

" _Jawohl, Herr Colonel! Heil Hitler_!" He barked, in perfect German.

Hogan smiled.

"Good." He answered.

Carter and LeBeau joined the group after closing the tunnel entrance.

"What brilliant plan do you have in mind, Colonel?" The little Frenchman asked, sliding up beside Hogan's left side.

The American officer chuckled deviously.

"What _don't_ I have planned, LeBeau?" He remarked, with a wink.

Hogan's men gathered around him eagerly and began listening to their commanding officer's scheme to victory.


End file.
